


Compound 0918

by elizaye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Body Modification, Breeding, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Execution, Feral Behavior, Fisting, Gender Dysphoria, Immortality, Impromptu Surgery, Jealous Dean Winchester, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Omega Castiel, Possessive Behavior, Protective Dean Winchester, Reincarnation, Torture, Underage - Freeform, Underground society, induced heat, mention of abortion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 33
Words: 64,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1895073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye/pseuds/elizaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where alphas and omegas are practically nonexistent and betas virtually infertile, the birth rate drops almost to zero. Society turns to science for salvation, pairing up compatible betas and carting them off to special facilities to be transitioned into alphas and omegas. Dean enters one of these compounds and transitions into an alpha. Despite his apprehensions, all seems well, and Dean is prepared to accept his fate. But then he meets his intended mate, and everything goes to hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started off on tumblr, and I'm transferring it here in the hopes that it'll get me to write for it a little more often. You can find my original thought bubble for this 'verse [here](http://imnotleavinherewithoutyou.tumblr.com/post/82963490835), and you can track the [abo dystopian au](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/abo-dystopian-au) tag for updates.
> 
> The Underage tag is for Castiel, who is sixteen in this fic. It's considered legal by the laws in this universe, but I figured I'd tag it to be safe.
> 
> [EDIT: Now has a [tumblr masterpost](http://imnotleavinherewithoutyou.tumblr.com/post/111350026220/compound-0918)!]

Compound 0918 isn’t half bad.

Before going in for the tests, Dean had heard all sorts of rumors about the inside. He’d heard shit about people living in cells and being forced to eat, drink, shit, piss, and sleep under supervision, and to be completely honest, it had kinda scared him. He’d gone in anyway, because one, he didn’t really have a choice unless he wanted to run away, and two, if he really  _did_  have the right genes or whatever, then that meant Sammy could get away with not having to go.

Yeah, things have gotten better in the last couple o’ decades. According to the history books, there wasn’t that whole sibling protection clause, where if one sibling was chosen, no others from that family had to be tested anymore.

Supposedly, the government has a heart.

In reality, the lead scientists behind all the testing discovered that the genetic link really didn’t matter; it was the compatibility, or something. So after that, siblings were declared off the hook.

And now that Dean’s on the inside, Sam is safe. Dean hangs onto that knowledge, because it helps him sleep at night.

* * *

His home used to be out in the suburbs, a small, one-story house with two bedrooms, an attic, and a cellar. Mom and Dad both had regular jobs, and Sam and Dean went to school. Then Dean graduated and got a job at the shop with Dad.

But then he got the call—his DNA was found to be compatible with someone they’d just tested, and he was called in. And now, he doesn’t have to work anymore; he’s basically set for life.

As long as he stays here, on this glorified breeding ranch, they’ll house and feed and clothe him for the rest of his days. Or, at least, ‘til he’s too old to fuck anymore.

Jesus Christ, this is his life, now.

He lives in what might pass for an apartment, on the outside. It doesn’t look like a cell at all, though. There’s a kitchen, for the people who prefer home-cooking their own meals, a small living room, a bathroom, and a decent-sized bedroom with a king-size bed.

Dean hasn’t met his mate, yet. He’s heard that the transition into an omega is painful, and his mate is still in recovery. Castiel is her name, though. Dean isn’t even positive how to pronounce it, but it looks pretty, at least. Hopefully she’ll be pretty, too, but Dean hasn’t even been given a picture of her. And he doesn’t really have a choice anymore, at this point. He just hopes it won’t be hard to live with her.

His own transition wasn’t too bad. He smells things differently now; everything sharper and easier to pick out than before. He hasn’t tried jacking off ever since that strange bump—knot, holy fucking god, he has a fucking  _knot_ , what the  _fuck_ —started swelling up when he tried, because shit, it still freaks him out a little.

But the point is, it didn’t hurt. He’s almost certain his balls got bigger, heavier, and the hair on his legs got slightly thicker, randomly.

Or maybe it’s just his imagination. He has a hard time telling.

It’s been about a month since Dean moved into Compound 0918, and so far he’s been… fine. He’s been bored out of his fucking mind, but there haven’t been body cavity searches or freezing showers by pressurized hoses (the shower in his bathroom actually has fucking awesome water pressure). And he’s been allowed to cook his own meals. All he has to do is send out a list of the groceries that he wants for each week.

He hasn’t met very many people, though.

There’s a couple who live down the hall from him—Benny and Andrea—who seem nice enough. Andrea brought cinnamon rolls over when Dean first moved in, and Benny gave Dean a better rundown of what was gonna happen to him, physically, in layman’s terms, because all the medical jargon that those doctors spewed at him flew right over his head.

Dean also met an omega named Tessa who lives one floor down; she was taking out the trash at the same time he was, and they got to talking. If she weren’t already paired up, Dean likes to think they could have had a little something.

Yeah, that’s something Dean’s gonna miss—sleeping around. He’s never actually been a slut, but… well, he considers himself an opportunist. Why not? He’s glad for it now, anyway, seeing as he probably—well, definitely—won’t get to sleep with anyone else again.

A knock on the door pulls Dean from his stupor, and he blinks, because it’s late at night, and he’s apparently been staring at the black screen of the TV, lost in thought.

He gets to his feet as the person outside knocks again, and says, “All right, all right, I’m coming!”

He yanks the door open, fully expecting Benny to be on the other side—no one else would be visiting him at this hour, anyway—and is surprised to see an unfamiliar face. The man—boy, really, because he can’t be older than sixteen—on the other side of the door has wide, blue eyes, wild, dark hair, and a set jaw, something angry or impatient about him.

This all filters in slowly, because Dean’s brain has gone sluggish, visual information taking a backseat to olfactory, and holy shit, Dean has never smelled anything like this before, doesn’t even know how to describe it. It’s lightning and fire mixed with buttery, syrupy decadence, and Dean can’t stop himself from swaying forward, because he wants more, needs more, won’t ever stop needing more—

“Dean,” a voice says sharply and oh, that’s definitely Jody, a security guard in the compound.

“Yeah,” Dean says, snapping to attention, and shit, he hadn’t even noticed her standing there, not two feet from the boy who’s… still looking at Dean kinda angrily.

“I found him trying to leave the premises,” Jody says rigidly. “Doc said to bring him down to you, so here we are.”

“Uh. What does he have to do with me?” Dean asks, stupidly, because shit, the scent, of  _course_. Castiel is a  _guy_.

“Uh, let’s try, he’s your mate?” Jody responds, and the boy—Castiel—winces.

“Right,” Dean says, and his mouth has suddenly gone dry, because oh man, this is it. This is Castiel. God, they’re gonna be stuck with each other for the rest of their lives. “Well, hey,” Dean says, sticking his hand out. “I’m Dean.”

“I know,” Castiel says. His voice is rough, sandpaper-rough, and Dean just pulls his hand back when Castiel makes no move to take it.

“Come on in, then,” Dean says, stepping back.

Castiel hesitates for a moment, glances at Jody, and it’s clear that he’s thinking about making a run for it. Shit, of course Dean would get saddled down with a flight risk. Not that he blames the guy. Transitions for omegas are supposedly pretty difficult, even for girls, what with all the science-y stuff that invokes heats, and all. It’s gotta be even worse for a beta dude to go omega.

“C’mon, Castiel,” Dean tries, because there’s no way the boy is gonna get away. Jody is standing  _right there_. And he’s lucky he was caught by Jody, anyway. If it had been Gordon, who knows what would have happened to him?

Finally, Castiel steps through the doorway, careful to maintain as wide of a distance from Dean as he can.

“Thanks for bringing him by, Jody,” Dean says.

There’s something apologetic in her expression, and she only nods in acknowledgement before turning her back and walking back down the hall. Dean closes the door and counts to three before turning around.

Fuck, that scent.

Castiel stands in the kitchen, close to the island in the middle. His eyes are guarded, and he has a knapsack slung over his shoulder.

“So you uh, tried to make a break for it, huh?” Dean says.

Castiel clenches his jaw. “Are you gonna punish me for it?” he asks, tilting his chin up, as though he’s daring Dean to say yes.

“Why the hell would I do that? I don’t wanna be here any more than you do,” Dean replies.

The boy doesn’t answer. Dean starts toward him, and his hand darts out, snatches a knife from the block set sitting on the counter in front of him. Fear and anger are the primary scents filling the air between them, and some nascent part of Dean rebels, wants to soothe his mate.

Shit, this is his  _mate_.

“Don’t—don’t come near me.”

Dean immediately stops walking and lifts his hands, holding his palms out to show that he means no harm. “Kid, I’m not—I’m not some kind of rapist, okay? What do you think this is?”

Castiel’s grip tightens on the knife. “I’m not a fucking  _kid_. I’m sixteen.”

“Well, you’re barely an adult,” Dean says. “And trying to break out of here? C’mon, this isn’t  _Shawshank Redemption_. We’ll still be allowed visitation and stuff, once things are settled.”

“Visitation,” Castiel says bitterly. “That’s bullshit.”

“Look, I’m not happy about this either, but—”

“They took me from my family,” Castiel snaps. “You  _chose_  to be here,  _and_  you’re an alpha, so forgive me if I don’t believe you when you say you don’t want to be here. What kind of horny assbutt  _wouldn’t_  want his job to just be knocking up an omega over and over for the rest of his life?”

Dean stares at Castiel for a beat, and what finally comes out of his mouth is, “Assbutt?”

“If you don’t like ‘assbutt,’ I could use crapshit, maybe.”

Dean can’t help but smile at that. “How ‘bout shithead? I gotta teach you how to curse properly.”

“You won’t be  _teaching_  me  _anything_ ,” Castiel says angrily.

“Okay. Okay, sorry,” Dean says, shaking his head. “Look, just—it’s late. Why don’t you put your things in the room and get some sleep. Or shower, if you want to. We can talk in the morning.”

Castiel doesn’t move.

“I’m not—okay, what if I sleep on the couch?” Dean says. “I can grab a blanket or something from the bedroom, and then you can take the bed. Just don’t kill me in my sleep. And put that knife down. Okay?”

Castiel looks at him distrustfully, and Dean wonders what exactly he heard about these places that makes him so wary. It sounds like he’s been hearing all sorts of horror stories about rape in these places. And fuck, now that Dean’s thinking about it, it  _does_  look kinda bad.

“Castiel,” Dean says, “Cas, if I explain why I chose to come here, will you listen?”

“Listening isn’t the same as believing.”

“No, but all I need from you right now is to listen. Will you?”

“Yes,” Castiel says hesitantly.

“I’ve got a little brother,” Dean says. “His name is Sam, and he’s four years younger than me. He’s… turning sixteen this year. Next month, actually.”

Castiel’s expression changes slightly, a little of that wariness melting away slightly, and maybe, maybe he believes Dean.

“I could have dragged it out, but once someone’s test results are in the system for matching, they can’t be taken out. And if me going in meant Sammy didn’t have to be tested… well, you already know what I chose. It wasn’t because I wanted to become some—some fucking stud on a glorified breeding farm.”

It’s silent for a long moment after Dean finishes his spiel, and Dean starts to think that maybe Castiel didn’t believe him, after all. When he pays attention to the scents in the air, it seems like there’s been too much conflicting emotion, and he can’t pick out anything concrete.

Finally, Castiel sets the knife down on the counter.

“We can talk in the morning,” he decides, still watching Dean closely.

“Okay. Just let me grab some stuff from my—our—the room, and then it’s uh, it’s all yours.”

Castiel nods, and Dean feels his eyes following him all the way out of the room. Inside the bedroom, Dean snatches dirty clothes off the floor and shoves it into his hamper before pulling out a spare blanket and going out into the living room. Castiel hasn’t moved from his spot in the kitchen, as though he’s afraid to get too far from the knife block.

“Go on ahead,” Dean says, sitting down on the couch. He grabs the remote control and turns on the TV, hoping that it’ll help break down the tension in the apartment a little.

Eventually, Castiel disappears into the bedroom, the door closing with a quiet _snick_  that Dean only just catches over the chatter of the TV, and Dean closes his eyes and really lets himself breathe. Castiel wasn’t in the apartment for long, but his smell already permeates this space, and god, if Dean were in the mood, he thinks he could totally rub one out just on Castiel’s scent alone.

But he can’t stop remembering Castiel’s fear, and that’s enough to kill any wayward ideas he might have about the guy.

Shit, though. They’re gonna—gonna have to, eventually. Dean doesn’t wanna find out what happens to people in these compounds who don’t follow orders.

Dean shuts off the TV to go brush his teeth, and as he passes by the bedroom, he thinks he hears soft crying. Oh god, Castiel may be a legal adult, but he’s still a kid, and Dean feels ridiculously protective over him already. He can’t even tell how much of it is because of those new alpha instincts asserting themselves over his thoughts and how much of it is just his own nature, but he wants, more than anything, to go in there and just… just hold him, for a while.

Not tonight, he tells himself. The last thing Castiel wants is a reminder of what he tried—and failed—to run away from tonight.

Dean goes into the bathroom and closes the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean is woken the next morning by persistent knocking on the door. He rolls off the couch and freezes for a second, because shit, his  _back_. It’s been years since he had to sleep on anything as cramped as a couch, so that’s probably it.

He stretches out, yawning, before heading for the door. He casts a quick glance over his shoulder and finds the bedroom door still shut tight.

When he pulls the front door open, he finds Jody standing outside. “Oh, hey,” he says.

“Naomi wants to see you,” Jody says.

“Just me, not Castiel?” Dean asks.

“She didn’t mention Castiel,” Jody replies. After a brief pause, she asks, “Is he—all right?”

“Yeah, he’s uh…” Dean stops, glances back over his shoulder again, and then steps out of the apartment entirely, pulling the door shut behind him. “Look, what’s the deal with him? Why’d he try to run away?”

“I don’t know a thing about him,” Jody says. “I was just on patrol and caught him out after hours, heading for one of the gates.”

“Mm,” Dean says, frowning.

“Well, come on. We don’t have all day,” Jody says, turning away and walking down the hall without even making sure that Dean’s following. He hurries to keep up.

* * *

“Dean Winchester,” Naomi says when Jody leads him into the office.

“Yeah, hi,” Dean says with a small smile. Jody backs out of the room without another word and closes the door for them.

“Sit,” Naomi says, so Dean sits down in the seat across from her. Her desk is very wide, though, so there’s still a pretty big distance between them. ”How was last night?” Naomi asks.

Dean doesn’t think he gets what she means, so he says, “Uh. What?”

“Did everything go well last night?” Naomi asks, looking up from her work. Her desk only has two folders on its surface, one closed and the other open. Naomi’s pen is poised over one of the pages inside, and when Dean meets her gaze blankly, she sighs and puts the pen down. “The sex, Dean. I’m asking about the sex.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “No, it didn’t—I mean, we didn’t have sex.”

Naomi looks stunned, which with her restrained, toned-down range of facial expressions is to say that her eyes widen just slightly. “Why not?”

“That isn’t really any of your business,” Dean says, and when Naomi lifts one eyebrow, Dean adds hesitantly, “…is it?”

“Of course it’s my business,” Naomi says, picking up her pen again and scribbling on the page rapidly. “What time did he arrive at your residence?”

“I have no idea,” Dean says.

Naomi sighs, and Dean’s certain that if she were more expressive, she would have rolled her eyes. “Of course. I’ll ask it of Jody later. Now I’d like you to answer my other question: why not?”

Dean doesn’t know what to say. It can’t be good to give Castiel up and say that it was because Castiel didn’t want to, right? But then again, Naomi must already know that Castiel tried to run away; it can’t hurt for Dean to tell her what she already knows.

So he answers, “Castiel didn’t want to, so I didn’t force him. Rape wasn’t part of the contract.”

A small furrow appears between Naomi’s brows, and she pauses in her writing to look up at Dean with consternation. “In the contract, you gave your express consent to all procedures and requirements in this program. So did Castiel. Consent is now irrelevant.”

Dean feels sick.

“Regardless, that should not have been an issue last night,” Naomi continues thoughtfully. Fixing an intense gaze on Dean, she says, “Describe him to me.”

The command catches Dean off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Describe him.”

“Well. I mean, what do you want to hear? He’s a guy. Dark hair, blue eyes…” Dean lets his voice trail off, but Naomi has already lowered her head, pen flying across the paper.

“Go on,” she says with a slight nod.

“Uh,” Dean says, trying to remember, “he looked kinda angry.” His eyes drift closed as he continues, “He was… impressive. Smelled like a storm, but better. Sweeter. Like… like nothing I’d ever smelled before.”

It’s quiet when he’s finished speaking, and he opens his eyes to find Naomi watching him speculatively. She says, “That’s all I need, then.”

“What, really?” Dean says.

Naomi nods. “You can go on back to your residence. Good day.”

Dean nods back before getting to his feet and leaving the room. When he gets back to the apartment, the bedroom door is open, and Castiel’s scent is stronger in the living room. The beta-turned-omega is nowhere to be seen, though, and when Dean goes farther into the apartment, he sees that the bathroom is empty, too.

But Castiel’s backpack is in the bedroom. Would he have left his backpack behind, if he were to make another escape attempt? Unlikely.

Worry unfurls in Dean’s gut, but he doesn’t know what he can even do about it.

* * *

Castiel is gone for the whole day, and when Dean asks Benny about it, he just says that it’s probably fine. Andrea was apparently taken in for checkups pretty often after moving out of the labs, so Castiel disappearing for a day should be normal.

When Dean finally hears a knock on the door, he leaps to his feet and hurries over, because maybe it wasn’t such a big deal for Andrea, but the transition would’ve been easier for her, anyway.

Dean pulls open the door and is smacked in the face by a scent so strong that he thinks his knees might buckle with the force of it. “ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps as Castiel is pushed into his arms.

Dean barely even registers the two men in masks yanking the door of the apartment shut, leaving a hot—too-hot Castiel clutching at Dean’s shoulders, snuffling at the base of Dean’s neck.

He smells divine, even better than he did yesterday, and Dean’s so turned on that he can hardly even think.

“Cas—fuck—” he grits out as Castiel paws at him.

_Heat_ , is the word, and Dean had known that heats could be induced, but he never would’ve expected to witness it, let alone be affected by it. No wonder those fuckers who half-carried Castiel here had to have masks on. Dean doesn’t see how anyone could resist this, compatible or not.

Dean is hard, harder than he can ever remember being, and even thoughts of Castiel not wanting this aren’t enough to subdue his arousal, something uncontrollable and inevitable about this.

Castiel noses at Dean’s neck, plastering himself all along Dean’s front, and Dean backs up toward the bedroom, because shitfuck, there’s no way in hell he’s gonna be able to stop this.

He tugs Castiel’s head up and presses their lips together, and Castiel opens up immediately, desperate for the contact.

Fuck. Fuck, Dean can only pray that Castiel will forgive him, when this is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how short this one was. I'll put up the next chapter soon.
> 
> Also, omg I did not expect the number of comments that I actually got on the first part of this aaahh. I usually respond individually, but I've just been so swamped with work lately that when I get home my brain is sort of mush. But thank you so much! I'm glad you're liking this so far. I'm gonna try to update on a regular basis. I have a bit of a lead on posting (as you might have noticed, if you followed the links to tumblr), so hopefully I'll be able to keep it up.


	3. Chapter 3

Oh, holy fucking  _shit_ , what is he  _doing?_

Dean freezes up, horrified with himself, and Castiel whines plaintively, starts rolling his hips to fuck back onto Dean’s fingers. A half-sob breaks out of the omega’s throat, and Dean thinks that that must have been what pulled him back—he can smell the saltiness of tears in the room, and shit, shit, shit, Castiel is still in there somewhere. Dean’s still conscious, still here—at least,  _now_  he is—so of _course_  Castiel is, too.

“A-alpha,” Castiel gasps, hips still moving, “alpha, puh—please.”

“Shit,” Dean curses, shutting his eyes and wishing that this could be happening under different circumstances.

He’s been with a couple guys before, knows that it can be pretty damn awesome, but this, this is something he’s never done. Real, born omegas are so rare nowadays that Dean’s never even met one. Turned ones never leave the compounds, and Dean has only seen a couple of them here, since they apparently don’t venture out all that often anyway.

Now, though, now he’s knuckle-deep in an omega, slick and hot and rippling around his fingers, so fucking  _hungry_  for it, hungry to be bred, to be knotted up— _knocked_  up—and the thought should be freaking Dean out, but it only gets him harder, and he thinks he feels vaguely sick.

“Cas, fuck, you don’t—you don’t  _want_  this,” Dean groans, and if he were a stronger man, he’d pull away entirely, but Cas is still making these small, desperate sounds low in his throat, and Dean can’t bring himself to take away the only thing that seems to be giving him a bit of relief.

There’s a thin sheen of sweat all over Cas’s back, gathering in the dip of his spine and the small valley between his shoulder blades, and it’s impossible for Dean  _not_  to lean down and just lick it up, the taste of his omega— _his_  omega—sweet and hot on his tongue. He moans with it, mouths at the back of Cas’s neck and god, all he wants is to be knotted in that sweet ass, filling it to the brim with come and plugging it all up in there ‘til there’s no goddamn way Cas isn’t pregnant.

Oh, it’s wrong. It’s so wrong.

Dean has always known himself, has always been able to trust his instincts, but now they’ve gone and fucked ‘em all up, and it scares the shit out of him that he can’t even tell what he wants and what the—the  _new_  part of him wants.

Jesus, Cas is like a goddamned drug, and Dean can’t help but take hit after hit, nose pressed to the bolt of Cas’s jaw, then the side of his neck.

But here, the scent of tears is stronger, too, and Dean feels the haze clearing up some more.

“ _Alpha_ ,” Cas says, firm and low, pushing back onto Dean’s fingers a little harder, a little faster. “Alpha, need—need more—fuck—”

“You’re gonna be okay, Cas,” Dean manages around a tongue that feels too thick in his mouth. “It’s gonna be okay—I’m gonna take care o’ you.”

Except that’s not what Dean meant to say, because shit, Cas doesn’t  _actually_ want Dean to take care of him, and though Cas’s hips never stop pumping, Dean can pick out the fear in Cas’s scent, especially now that his head has cleared some.

He finally tugs his fingers out of Cas’s ass, using that hand to help brace himself over Cas’s back, and the long cry that Cas lets out at the loss makes every instinct in Dean’s body rear up protectively. With his clean hand, he reaches up, cups Cas’s jaw, and turns his head, enough for Dean to kiss his lips, gentle and chaste.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Dean repeats, steadier this time, and when he flicks his tongue out for a second, longer kiss, he can taste Cas’s tears, saltiness that isn’t supposed to be there.

Cas shifts under him, restless, and pushes his ass back up against Dean’s groin, nothing coy or mistakable about his intentions, and Dean breaks the kiss to gasp at the slickness that coats his cock.

“Cas,” he chokes out, starting to pull back, but Cas reaches up and grasps his cheek, fingers curling around the side of his head, and kisses him again, soft and sweet and inviting.

Dean groans when all of Cas’s shifting gets them lined up so that Dean’s cock slides up along Cas’s crack, because holy  _fuck_ , he doesn’t know what kind of sex he’s been having before, but it’s nothing compared to this, and he’s not even _inside_  yet.

He’s gonna breed this little bitch, this little omega, make his belly grow round with child.

No, shit, fuck,  _no_.

Dean stills his hips, because goddammit, he’d started rutting against Cas, and that’s—not okay. The scent of tears has all but gone, flushed out by the heat rolling off Cas in waves, but Dean  _must_  know himself.

He’s got this.

Cas pulls away suddenly, and Dean’s disoriented for all of two seconds before he realizes that Cas is flipping over, legs spread wide in blatant invitation. He tugs Dean down by the back of the neck, probably aiming for another kiss, but Dean turns his head a little, moves to the side and presses kisses to Cas’s cheek, jaw, neck. It’s safer.

“Alpha,” Cas gets out, hands sliding down to the small of Dean’s back and pulling him down.

“Shit, Cas, just—just let me get you through this, all right? You’re gonna be fine,” Dean says, because maybe talking him through it will help. He pulls back a little to look Cas in the eye and finds him looking wildly back.

“Dean.”

It comes out breathy, nearly inaudible, but Dean hears it clear as a bell, and something in his chest unclenches. “Cas,” he answers, sighing with relief. “Shit, Cas, you with me?”

Cas squeezes his eyes shut and says, “It—it hurts. Dean, I—I need—”

“You need to ride this out,” Dean says. “I’m gonna help you out with that, all right? This is—this is just meds. We can beat that.”

Shaking his head, Cas says, “It’s our biology. Please, I—” he pauses, clenches his jaw, and then goes on, “I can’t take it anymore, Dean.”

The resignation in his voice is probably the worst thing Dean’s ever heard, and that steels his resolve to see this through—to do this right. “I’m gonna—gonna put my fingers back in you, okay?”

“That isn’t—it really isn’t necessary,” Cas says, but he moans anyway when Dean presses three fingers in straight to the knuckle. “Oh,” Cas breathes, hips rocking just a little. “Dean—Dean, more.”

“Got it,” Dean says, mouth gone dry.

He pumps his fingers in and out a couple times, stretching Cas out a little more, before fitting his fourth finger in with them. Cas’s eyes flutter closed, and he makes a pleased sound, clenching down around Dean’s fingers. Fuck, Dean can barely even imagine how good that would feel around his cock. Oh, fuck.

“More?” Dean asks, trying to keep his head straight even as his gaze flicks down to his fingers, slipping in and out of Cas’s ass.

Shit, he can’t look. He forces himself to focus on Cas’s face instead, just in time to see him nodding.

“Yes. Dean, yes—please.”

Oh, holy—he’s gonna do it. He’s gonna—

Dean looks, because it’s impossible for him not to. He draws his thumb in close to his palm, brings his fingers closer together, and pushes in, all at once. Cas draws a sharp breath, and Dean pauses, backs off a little, and then presses forward again, careful to watch Cas’s face for any signs of discomfort.

The omega catches on quick and says, “ _Oh_ —oh, Dean, please—please do it.”

“Yeah,” Dean says without really thinking, because the sight of his fingers sinking in, almost to the knuckles, is enough to fry his brain. “Yeah, I gotcha. You’re doing so good, Cas, baby, you’re doing great.”

It doesn’t take much longer for the widest part of Dean’s hand to make it in, and then he’s sinking in to the wrist, which—oh,  _fuck_.

Dean is  _fisting_  someone. Fuck, he’s fisting  _Cas_.

He isn’t even sure when that name became so meaningful to him, seeing as he’s only had maybe less than an hour of meaningful interaction with this omega, yet he—

Cas is  _everything_ , and it’s  _terrifying_.

Dean looks up again and sees that Cas’s expression has shifted to one of bliss, eyes shut but not pinched around the edges, mouth gone slack.

“Good?” Dean says, slowly curling his fingers inward to make an actual fist.

Cas moans softly. “Yes. Yes, very good,” he answers, blindly finding Dean’s head with his hand and pulling him down for a kiss.

Dean obliges him this time, because holy crap, this—this is blisteringly hot, and if Dean never fucks Cas for real, he doesn’t think he’s gonna care, because this is enough spank bank material to last to last him a fucking lifetime.

Dean pushes his fist forward slightly before pulling back, and Cas groans, hips rolling with the motion.

“It’s—almost perfect,” Cas gasps, and his movements get more urgent, determined. “Almost,  _almost_ —”

Dean wraps his hand around Cas’s cock, smaller than his own but not abnormally so, and jacks it a few times, keeping rhythm with Cas’s motions, and a throaty moan bursts from Cas’s mouth.

“Oh, oh—Dean—” he says, voice tight, and then he’s coming, insides clenching down tightly around Dean’s fist, a few spurts of come landing on his belly. And holy shit, Dean thinks that things might have just gotten wetter around his fist too, but he can’t be sure.

He starts pulling his hand out, but Cas shakes his head, grabs onto Dean’s wrist to hold it in place.

“Please, just—a moment longer,” he says breathlessly.

“‘Kay,” Dean says, swallowing hard. God, he needs to get  _out_  of this room and jerk off. Like,  _now_.

But he stays where he is, lets Cas have his afterglow, and just kisses his face all over, because he can’t seem to stop himself.

_Mate_. That’s what Cas is now, to him, and it’s not something that can be helped. But fuck if Dean isn’t gonna do the best he can in this—this fucked up situation.

Finally, Cas releases Dean’s wrist, and Dean pulls back, nice and slow so that he won’t hurt Cas on the way out. But it’s slick enough that Dean’s hand comes out pretty easily, and he wonders just how big a knot has gotta be, if it actually can get locked in place.

Dean presses one last kiss to Cas’s temple before pulling away entirely and getting off the bed. Somehow, despite having to wait, his erection hasn’t gone down at all. God, all he wants is to get back on top of that pliant, sated omega and fuck him into oblivion.

He needs to get out of this room, right the fuck now.

“Dean,” Cas says before he can reach the door, “thank you.”

Dean manages a quick smile in Cas’s direction before twisting the doorknob with his clean hand and making his escape.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each of these chapters was written in one sitting, so this one's a bit shorter. Sorry! I'll post the next one soon.

The second morning after Cas’s arrival at Dean’s unit, Dean gets hauled off for another interrogation, this time by Gordon. He escorts Dean all the way up to Naomi’s office, just like Jody had, and all but shoves him into the room before marching off.

“Good morning, Dean,” Naomi says without looking up, because she’s scribbling away on a sheet of paper. Again, her desk is clear but for two folders, one set aside and the other open for her to work on.

Dean gets the sense that one is for him, and the other is for Cas.

“Did you have a good evening?” Naomi asks.

The question sounds neutral enough, but Dean knows what Naomi is actually asking, so he says, “Yeah, it was great.”

“Mhmm,” Naomi hums, finishing whatever she was writing and finally looking up at him. “Sit.”

Dean takes the chair that he sat in last time and watches the doctor expectantly, because she can’t just stare at him all day. He starts to feel a little uncomfortable under her scrutiny but doesn’t quail, because he gets the sense that she’s testing him, somehow.

At last, she asks, “So. Did you have sex with Castiel last night?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you knot him?”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters under his breath, because people don’t just  _ask_  about these things. Except that they apparently do, in the compounds. Naomi’s tone is clipped, clinical and detached, but it still feels beyond strange to tell her, “Yeah.”

“And how did he take it?”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

Naomi levels an unimpressed look in his direction and says, “I asked you a question, Dean. I expect you to answer it.”

“Okay. Uh, he took it… well?” Dean tries, because how the fuck is he supposed to answer a question like that? Even if they  _had_  knotted, Dean knows that he’d have absolutely no clue what to say.

“I see. What did he smell like, before and after?”

Dean opens his mouth, closes it. He doesn’t think he can even remember the specifics. “Just—heat, before. And I uh, I wasn’t really paying attention after,” he answers.

Naomi starts writing. “And how did it feel to you, after knotting?”

“Jesus Christ, are you seriously asking what it felt like to—to freaking stick my dick in his ass? How the hell do you  _think_  it felt?”

“I wouldn’t know. That’s why I asked,” Naomi says. “But never mind that; we’ll get to it another time. I just have one final question for you today.”

Thank god.

“Why are you lying to me?”

Uh, shit. “What do you mean?” Dean says, going for confused.

“Why are you lying to me?” Naomi repeats, slower this time, each syllable articulated clearly.

“I’m not.”

Naomi sighs and puts her pen down. “There is absolutely no reason for you to be doing this, Dean. I don’t understand. You signed up for this, as did Castiel. Why do you insist on—”

“I’m not lying!” Dean interrupts.

“Do you honestly think that we were stupid enough to just put a newly turned omega, who had just tried to run away, into your housing unit, and not take precautionary measures?” Naomi says.

“I don’t—”

“The first night, we’d already given him a light dosage, just to up his pheromones a little. Apparently, it wasn’t enough. I checked the footage, and I saw that he threatened you with a knife. Is this why you’re lying to me, Dean?”

But Dean’s still caught on the word,  _footage_. “What footage?”

“Dean, the government is spending a fortune on you and your mate. Of course you’re under twenty-four hour surveillance.”

Oh, god. Oh god, that was  _not_  something Dean wanted to know.

“Now, are you doing this because he threatened you? Is that why you’re lying?”

“No. It’s—it’s got nothing to do with Cas, okay? I don’t know why I lied. I just did.”

Naomi squints, like she suspects that he’s being dishonest, and it’s frustrating because he’s actually not lying anymore. At least, not about the important part. “But he would have knifed you. Surely you felt threatened,” she prods.

“No,” Dean says forcefully. “It was all me, got it? I just—wanted to lie, so I did.”

The suspicion on Naomi’s face clears instantly, and she says, matter-of-fact, “So you were trying to protect him. It’s good to know you’re functioning at least partially correctly.”

“Functioning—I’m not a machine, you know.”

“Of course not,” Naomi says. “But a full alpha wouldn’t have been able to abstain last night, not with the intensity of Castiel’s heat.”

“Alphas are still human beings,” Dean says, frowning. He’s only met one born alpha, and he’d seemed like just any other regular guy.

“Yes, but they’re more in touch with their baser urges,” Naomi replies. “And we ensured that Castiel’s heat was… as strong as we dared make it without killing him.”

Dean stares. “You’re kidding me. So if you guys screwed up, you could’ve  _killed_ him?”

“I’m glad your protective instincts are kicking in,” Naomi says, taking out what looks like a small remote control and pressing a button. “That’s one less thing we have to worry about.”

“This is so fucked up,” Dean spits, getting to his feet.

A door to the right opens, and two guards step in. Dean turns to go out the door that he came from, but it opens to reveal two more guards, so he spins back around to face Naomi.

“What the hell is this? I finished my treatments,” Dean says.

“Yes, well, there’s obviously still something wrong with you, so I’m afraid we’re going to have to take a look at you,” Naomi says, nodding to the guards.

Dean briefly considers making a run for it, but the guards are coming at him from both of the only two exits, and Naomi is still separated from him by the wide expanse of her desk, so it’s not like he can grab at her.

There’s a brief, sharp pain at the side of his neck, and then he goes down.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel is tired.

Not just physically, though he does feel worn out after the haze of heat has completely faded away. No, he’s drained mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and all he wants is to go  _home_.

He begged, last night. Begged to be fucking  _used_ , like a  _bitch_ , and it  _kills_  him. He didn’t have the strength of will that he thought he did, and it’s utterly disappointing.

He let them take away his conviction, and that was the only thing he had left. What is he, now? Is he even still the same person as he once was?

Castiel curls up into a smaller ball and shivers, feeling bereft. He  _doesn’t_  miss Dean, and he _wasn’t_ disappointed when Dean left the room last night instead of staying with him.

Dean’s scent has mostly faded from the room, and it feels empty and cold, wrong, and some innate feeling, something a lot like fear, makes Castiel’s chest flutter. Is this what they’ve reduced him to? Being unable to even stay in a room without an alpha lording over him?

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Dean… Castiel doesn’t understand him. He signed up for this program, and last night, Castiel was in full-blown heat, yet Dean didn’t knot him. Castiel knows that he should be grateful, and a large part of him is, but another voice in his head mocks him, says that even in heat, his alpha didn’t want him—that he failed, even at being a bitch.

Castiel silences that voice, because it’s not him. It doesn’t matter that it sounds like his own voice, or that it’s somewhere in his head, because the doctors here have been messing with his mind, with his body, turning his biology against him.

He lies in bed for the better part of the day, until finally the pressure in his bladder and the emptiness in his stomach become too much to handle. He ventures out of the room and is equal parts relieved and disappointed to find the outside of the apartment vacant, Dean nowhere to be seen.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, Castiel goes into the kitchen and checks the fridge. It’s well-stocked, but Castiel doesn’t feel in the mood for cooking, so he selects a frozen dinner from the freezer and pops it in the microwave.

As he waits for his food to be ready, he wanders into the small living room. He hadn’t had time to look around yesterday; he’d been woken by rough hands grabbing him, and he hadn’t even bothered putting up a fight, because this was the norm. He could choose between going quietly or getting a tranq, and he _hated_  waking up in a place without knowing how he’d gotten there.

Castiel cuts off the thoughts before he can get too far, because even the suggestion of those operating rooms could put him off his appetite, and he really does need to eat.

The bookshelf contains only a few volumes, books that Castiel has heard of but not read. They’re alphabetized by the authors’ last names, which is surprising to Castiel—Dean hadn’t come across to him as an organized, detail-oriented person.

On top of the television set sits a little figurine of an angel, sitting cross-legged with its elbows propped on its knees, chin resting on open palms. The wings are fluffy, white, and it looks serene, peaceful, watchful. Castiel looks around the room again, frowning. There is nothing else to suggest that Dean might be religious, and Castiel cannot understand the presence of the angel in the room.

The microwave dings then, so Castiel goes to stir the contents of his microwaved dinner before shoving it back inside to spin for another minute.

There isn’t much else to look at in the room, and Castiel finds himself gravitating toward the couch, nostrils flaring, because Dean’s scent is stronger here, and a part of him wants more of it. But as soon as he realizes what he’s doing, he backs off swiftly and waits the last twenty seconds in front of the microwave.

He eats at the island in the kitchen, looking at the block of knives that is still sitting innocently in front of him. He’s almost surprised that Dean didn’t try to hide the weapons somewhere, after their first meeting.

Before he has finished eating, someone knocks on the door, and Castiel freezes, wary. If  _they_  were here to get him, well. They certainly didn’t bother knocking last time. And Dean, Dean has a key to this place, surely.

Grabbing a knife from the block, Castiel goes over to the door and pulls it open quickly.

A man stands in the hallway, grinning, but his expression quickly changes to confusion. Castiel observes that he’s broad, tall, not as tall as Dean but certainly stockier, and Castiel’s grip tightens on the knife at his side, because in a straight fight, he wouldn’t have a chance.

“Just what the hell do you plan on doing with that, sugar?”

Castiel bristles at the condescending tone and says, “Depends on what you’re doing here.”

“Easy,” the man says. “You must be Cas.”

“Cas _tiel_.”

“Castiel,” the man corrects with a nod. Extending a hand, he says, “I’m Benny, from down the hall. Don’t know if Dean…” his voice trails off, and then he starts over, “Well. Seems he didn’t mention me.”

“No.”

After a pause, Benny says, “Glad to see you’re back in one piece, then. Dean was worried sick ‘bout you yesterday, but I told him he had nothing to worry about.”

Castiel says nothing and doesn’t bother to make his expression less hostile. This man is an alpha, and Castiel does not trust him.

“You uh. Mind tellin’ me where Dean went?”

“He wasn’t here when I woke up,” Castiel answers flatly.

Footsteps coming from down the hall make Castiel take a small step back, farther into the apartment, though he keeps a hand on the door, prepared to slam it if need be.

“What are you doing in the hallway?” a female voice asks.

“Dean isn’t home,” Benny answers.

“Then who are you talking to?” the woman asks, stepping into view. She’s pretty, olive-skinned with dark hair and round eyes, and it takes only a moment for Castiel to pick out that she’s an omega. “Hello,” she says to him, smiling. “You must be Cas.”

“He’s Cas _tiel_  to us,” Benny says to the omega.

Castiel frowns. “I’m Castiel to everyone.”

“If you say so,” Benny says with a shrug. “Well, when Dean gets back, let him know we were lookin’ for him, all right?”

Before Castiel can respond, he scents something familiar in the air. It’s—it’s Dean, but—

A snarl interrupts Castiel’s train of thought, and the two visitors at his doorstep spin to look down the hall.

“Jesus Christ,” Benny says, pressing the omega behind him and taking a step back.

Castiel immediately backtracks into the apartment, forgetting to shut the door in his haste, and nearly crashes into the kitchen counter because he isn’t looking where he’s going.

“Dean?” he hears Benny say outside, and then footsteps thunder down the hall, coming toward the apartment. Castiel’s palm feels sweaty around the handle of the knife, his heart racing in his chest, yet the scent makes that horrible, hideous part of him perk its head up, because  _alpha-alpha-alpha_ —

Castiel hears a startled yelp, probably from the omega, and a curse from Benny, but then Dean is in the room, and the door slams shut almost hard enough to rattle the walls.

Castiel’s alpha—no, Castiel doesn’t  _have_  an alpha, damn it—is clearly on edge, furious, lips twisted into a snarl, and his eyes scan the room rapidly before resting on Castiel. Castiel, who of course has cornered himself in the kitchen, like a goddamned idiot.

Dean takes two large strides in his direction, and Castiel brandishes the knife, blurts out, “Don’t come any closer!”

But Dean only growls in annoyance, not slowing his pace, and Castiel grits his teeth, waiting until Dean is within striking distance before swinging outward with his knife, and god, this  _cannot be happening_.

Dean ducks the first swing as well as the second before snatching Castiel’s right wrist and twisting. Castiel releases the knife with a yelp, and before he’s even heard it clatter to the floor, he’s drawn up into Dean’s arms and held tight.

Castiel squeezes his eyes closed, expecting the worst—maybe Dean will bite him or rape him, or maybe those scientists have finally gone too far and turned someone completely feral, and Dean is currently plotting where best to start chowing down.

This is what Castiel expects, but what he gets is a soft sound, almost like a whine, and he feels a wave of relief that doesn’t belong to him. Dean snuffles at the base of his neck, noses up behind his ear, and just holds him, and Castiel relaxes despite himself.

“Dean?” he finally tries, tentatively.

He gets a grunt in response, and Castiel wonders what they’ve done to him,  _why_ they’ve done it to him. Bitterness wells up in his chest, because surely Dean didn’t want this, had no choice in this matter at the very least. And last night, when Dean  _did_  have a choice, he chose to respect Castiel’s lucid wishes, not the pleas of his heat-fevered mind.

Castiel tries to back up a step, but Dean only growls and tightens his arms around him, and what Castiel scents now is fear, cold and stinging to his nose.

He wriggles his arms until Dean loosens his grip a little, but as soon as Castiel’s arms are free, Dean pulls him in again, as though any sort of distance between them is unbearable. Castiel lifts his arms and gently coaxes Dean’s head back, because he needs to see him, needs to see what’s happened to him.

Dean’s eyes are dark, dilated, something wild about them, and when Castiel looks at him, he isn’t even sure how much of the being looking back is actually… human.

At least that horrible snarl is off his face.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel says softly, cupping Dean’s cheeks and watching as the alpha’s eyes drift closed at the contact, a contented hum rumbling to life in his chest. “What have they done to you?”


	6. Chapter 6

Thoughts come filtering in slowly, like they’re hiding behind a fog that’s clearing away in wisps.

It’s warm, almost hot. Quiet. Soft. Safe.

He inhales deeply, and yes, mate. His mate is safe. His mate is here and safe and in his arms, so all is well.

“Hmm—Dean?”

That’s—familiar. He isn’t sure why. But the voice is his mate, so he opens his eyes and sees crystal-blue eyes looking back at him a little sleepily, ancient eyes in a young face.

“Dean,” his mate repeats, concern filling the air between them as the omega shakes off his drowsiness.

He just kisses his mate’s forehead, cheek, jaw, and works his way down his neck. He’s pleased to find a mark already there, from before they went to sleep, and he bites down there, gentle, just a tease. His mate hisses but relaxes into it, tilting his head in acquiescence.

“Dean, please come back to me.”

Something about those words is particularly affecting, makes him draw back to look at his mate again, because maybe the omega isn’t distressed, but he certainly isn’t happy.

What’s the matter?

“Dean? Dean, it’s Castiel.”

His mate keeps speaking, but he doesn’t hear anymore of it. Castiel.

_Cas_.

Not just mate,  _Cas_. This is Cas, and Dean is… fuck, Dean is  _himself_.

“What the fuck?” he manages, and his tongue feels strange in his mouth, as though the words don’t come naturally anymore.

The relief that washes over Dean makes him pull Cas closer, and shit, Dean doesn’t know what happened. He doesn’t remember a fucking thing, just knows that everything smelled wrong, and the world was too bright, too loud, everything screaming at him that his mate wasn’t by his side, that his mate could be in danger.

How did they end up in bed together?

Did—did he actually—

Dean recoils before he can finish the thought, drawing back sharply and toppling off the bed, taking the covers with him. Cas sits up, startled and—and almost _hurt_ , if Dean’s nose can be trusted. Of course, Dean doesn’t know how trustworthy his senses are, seeing as the last thing he remembers clearly is being put under by that  _bitch_ —

“Dean, are you all right?” Cas asks, composed.

“Fuck, Cas, did we—I mean, did I—did I—”

“No,” Cas says, filling in the blanks when Dean can’t finish. Then he asks, “What happened? Where… where did you go?”

Dean licks his lips, looks around the room warily, because shit, they have  _cameras_  here. He and Cas are being recorded, 24/7. Cas probably doesn’t know that, and Dean… Dean doesn’t know whether or not they can talk without being overheard.

“They brought me in for some more treatments,” Dean says, still trying to figure out where they could hide a camera in this room. He hasn’t ever been one for lots of decorations, and beyond an alarm clock on the nightstand, there’s not really anything else sitting on the surfaces; he has nothing on top of the dresser, and the closet door is closed, as usual.

“Yes, that much was obvious. But why?” Cas asks, frowning deeply. “You should have completed your transition long before I did.”

Dean gets to his feet, grabs the covers, and puts them back on the bed. “Yeah, I should have. But it looks like I’m broken,” he says as he sits down on the edge of the bed, facing away from Cas.

Cas shifts a little behind him, and then his chin comes down to rest on Dean’s shoulder, his arms sliding around Dean’s middle. Dean wants to pull away, but he can’t bring himself to do it, because it feels so good to have his omega here, pressed against him, holding onto him.

It feels so good to be wanted.

Except Cas doesn’t—doesn’t want this. Cas isn’t here of his own free will. Sure, Dean didn’t exactly want this either, but at least he was sorta given a choice. From what Dean has seen of Cas, Cas wasn’t given that choice.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, and because his face is so close to Dean’s, it’s not hard at all for Dean to hear him. “They’re watching us.”

Dean blinks. Oh, Cas  _knows_.

“And I… I fear what they will do next, if we don’t do as they wish.”

Dean clenches his jaw. So Cas wants to just lie back and think of England, is that it? Dean turns his head, twisting away a little so that he can see Cas’s face, and says, lowly, “You’re afraid? I thought you were going to run away, Cas. You were ready to fight me off with a friggin’ kitchen knife when we first met. The hell happened to you?”

Dean expects his words to make Cas angry, so he’s surprised when Cas lowers his head, shamed.

“Hey, wait. Cas—”

“I’m not strong enough,” Cas mumbles.

“Don’t say that.”

“I wasn’t strong enough to resist the heat—”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Dean cuts in. “It was induced. Biology, remember?”

“That doesn’t matter. The fact is that I… I wasn’t strong enough control myself, not the way I should have been able to. And then you…”

Dread fills Dean’s chest at the pause, and he says, “I what? Did I do anything to you?”

“No,” Cas answers quickly, lifting his head to meet Dean’s eyes. “No, it was just…”

“Just what?”

“I’m afraid of what they did to you,” Cas says. “You weren’t here to see yourself. I wasn’t even sure you understood English anymore.”

As Cas finishes speaking, bitter worry filters into his scent, and Dean can’t stop himself from tipping his chin forward, kissing Cas’s lips. Cas stiffens, though, and Dean immediately pulls back, shocked at himself.

“Shit,” he blurts out. “Shit, Cas, I didn’t mean to.”

But instead of answering, Cas leans in and kisses him back, sliding a bit to his right to make the angle a little less awkward. Dean knows that he ought to stop this, but fuck, fuck, he  _wants_ , and neither of them is in an altered state of mind, so—

No, this isn’t right.

Dean pulls away, prying Cas’s arms away from his torso and getting to his feet. He knows better, knows that Cas is ready to cry uncle and do whatever Naomi wants them to be doing.

“Dean?” Cas says.

“Don’t,” Dean says, turning away, because Cas’s scent is really starting to get to him. He remembers now what he and Naomi talked about, and he doesn’t know what she might have pumped into his system.

“Do you not want me?” Cas asks.

“Fuck, don’t even start with that,” Dean says. “That’s not the problem.”

Then Cas is getting off the bed, walking over to him, and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Then there  _is_  no problem,” Cas insists. “Can we just do this? I worry what they’ll try on us if we don’t do it.”

“Dude, no,” Dean says, stepping away. “I’m not just gonna knuckle under.”

Cas frowns up at him. “But you chose this. Why won’t you—”

“You  _didn’t_  choose this,” Dean interrupts.

“What if it were another omega? Someone who didn’t try to run away?  _None_  of us chose this, Dean,” Cas says.

Dean clenches his jaw. “I don’t like hypothetical situations,” he says. “I only know that our situation is messed up. I’ve talked to some other people around here, and I don’t think any of them were fucked with as much as we were.”

“Does that matter, in the end?” Cas says. “One way or another, we’ve been paired up. And we’re only here for one purpose. What does it matter how much they mess with us?”

“Of course it matters,” Dean says. “I signed up for—for them to transition me into an alpha, and I signed up for getting paired with an omega, but I did  _not_  sign up to rape a kid.”

“Not a kid,” Cas reminds Dean needlessly.

“Fine. My point still stands,” Dean says.

There’s a sound from outside the room then, and Dean’s head jerks toward the door.

“What, Dean?” Cas says.

But the words have scarcely left his mouth when the door bangs open, and men come streaming in.

Dean shoves Cas behind him and drops into a crouch, a snarl leaving his mouth before it even crosses his mind. The first two go down easily, each with a solid punch to the face, but the third man manages to land a glancing blow to Dean’s left cheek.

Everything’s a blur, after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running out of parts to post, ruh roh. I probably won't be touching this fic again until after August 15, because I have to finish my draft for dcbb. But I've written up to part 9, so I do have a couple updates left for you guys.
> 
> Anyhow, thanks for reading and commenting!


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel gets thrown into a cell and left there for hours. He knows because there’s a clock on the wall outside his cell, and he can see it through the bars in the window of the cell door.

Castiel had known that they had prison cells like this one, but he hadn’t expected to end up in one. Before getting taken to Dean, he’d been hoping to escape, or die trying. He thinks that he’d almost rather be dead right now, but then he thinks of his family, and he wonders whether or not they would be punished if he broke the law.

And then there’s Dean.

God, Castiel wants to resent him, wants to hate him. He wants to wish that Dean had never existed, because if Dean didn’t exist, then Castiel wouldn’t be compatible with anyone, and he wouldn’t be here now.

Except Castiel can’t bring himself to feel those things. He thinks of Dean, and all he wants is for Dean to be near. His absence is almost physically painful, the air frigid and unwelcoming around Castiel, the walls threatening to close in on him.

Someone unlocks the cell door from the outside, and Castiel only curls up a little tighter, still wedged into the far corner of the room. The door swings open, and Naomi steps inside.

“Castiel,” she says severely. “I thought I’d fixed the problem, but apparently both you  _and_  Dean are troublesome.”

“Where is he, now?” Castiel asks.

“That may not be any of your concern, anymore.”

Castiel frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that we are reevaluating your stay here. It means that the higher ups have begun to question whether or not you two are worth the trouble.” Naomi’s jaw clenches as she finishes speaking, like she’s angry about it—like she even has the right to be angry about anything when it comes to Dean and Castiel.

“What difference does it make, to you?” Castiel says. “We’re all just  _breeders_ , aren’t we? Why do you even care?”

“You can’t possibly be that selfish, or ignorant,” Naomi replies. “Before these programs started, the birth rate actually hit zero. Not just here—it was worldwide. Did you learn anything in your history classes? Without all this, we would be extinct.”

“Then maybe we  _should_  have gone extinct,” Castiel bites out. “Maybe that’s what the human race deserved, for being so stupid as to wipe out two thirds of its demographic.”

Naomi takes a deep breath. “I didn’t come here to argue with you, Castiel. I came here because there’s someone I would like you to meet.”

Without another word, she sweeps out of the room, and Castiel—Castiel just wishes that he had a weapon.

A woman steps into the room, hesitant, but then her eyes fall on Castiel and go wide with disbelief. “You…” she murmurs. “You look just like my Jimmy.”

“Who are you?” Castiel asks, but he thinks he already knows. Her scent seems so familiar, yet he’s certain he’s never met this woman before. As he’s currently in a compound, that can only mean one thing.

“My name is Amelia,” she answers. “I’m your birth mother.”

Castiel hadn’t known that he was a child of Compound 0918. Most kids grow up not knowing that they come from compounds. That bit of history isn’t covered ‘til middle school. Some of Castiel’s friends had wanted to know where they were born, but that had never held any appeal to Castiel. As far as he was concerned, Michael and Anna were his parents, and that was the end of it.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she says, a little sadly. “Any of you.”

“Who is Jimmy? Is he your… your…”

“Alpha? Yes,” Amelia responds. “You really look just like him when he first entered the compound. We were both your age, then.”

Castiel swallows hard. This is his future he’s looking at, if he and Dean are kept here. “How—how can you stand it?”

“Stand what?”

“This,” Castiel says, waving a hand around aimlessly. “How can you stand  _any_  of this?”

“It’s really not so bad,” she says, taking a step toward him. She pauses then, as though remembering herself, and asks, “Can I come closer?” Castiel nods hesitantly, and he’s surprised by the gratitude that washes over him as she draws nearer. “I’ve always wanted to meet my children, to know them, talk to them.”

Sadness fills her tone, an old sadness, and Castiel almost aches for her.

“I wish you and I could have met under different circumstances, but that’s just not possible,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry for what’s happened to you.”

“How can you say it’s not so bad when you’re clearly unhappy?” Castiel asks.

Amelia smiles. “Sometimes, you forget where you are,” she replies. “When it’s just… me and him, the world falls away, and nothing else matters. I would never have made it through this without Jimmy.”

“Why isn’t he here?”

“How should I know? I don’t make the decisions here. I didn’t even know I was being brought in to speak with you until ten minutes ago,” Amelia responds. “He’ll be happy to know that you’re healthy, though.”

“Right. Healthy. I’m just in the wrong body, is all,” Castiel says.

“Oh, Castiel, honey—”

“ _Don’t_ —don’t talk to me as though you know me, all right?” Castiel interrupts, drawing his knees in tighter because he’d loosened up a little during their conversation. “I have—I have a fucking  _womb_. I’m not—I’m not  _me_ , anymore.”

Amelia seems hurt, and Castiel can only try his best not to care. Some innate part of him wants to apologize, wants to placate his mother because she’s upset, but Castiel’s already pretty damn upset himself. Who’s taken the time to comfort him?

“I’m sorry,” Amelia says.

“Save it.”

“You’ll be doing a good thing here, you and your mate,” Amelia says. “The children you produce will populate the world. How do you think you came into being?”

“Is that the secret, then? Is that what you tell yourself so that you can go to sleep at night?” Castiel says spitefully.

“I know you’re angry,” Amelia says. “But here, you’ll be taken care of. You’ll never have to worry for food or shelter, and your mate will love you, for the rest of your life—”

“Yeah, because he  _has_  to,” Castiel interjects.

“There are worse fates than this,” Amelia insists.

“Well, I would rather live a shitty, gutter rat life if it meant I could  _choose_  my own shitty, gutter rat life,” Castiel spits. “Maybe thinking about being noble and ‘repopulating the earth’ is enough for you to be happy with this life, but not me.”

Amelia stares at him for a moment. Then she says, “Do you even realize what you sound like? Nothing in this world is free. I spent the first few years of my life living out of the back of a van, Castiel. I was taken in by a new set of parents later on, but after that sort of a life… this is nothing. You should be grateful.”

“ _Grateful?_  For what? For them turning my body into some kind of breeding machine?” Castiel says. “I’m sorry that you suffered as a kid, but I’m not you, and you’re not me, so don’t try and tell me how I should feel.”

“You’re right,” Amelia concedes. “I can’t understand what you’re going through. I’ve never been kept in one of these holding cells before, and I can’t imagine what you must have done to end up here, or what you went through before they finally gave up and put you here.” After a pause, she says, “Just think about what I said today. I wish you the best.”

With that, she gets to her feet and goes to the door, banging on it twice. It opens for her, and after she’s gone, it swings shut again, leaving Castiel in silence.

He inhales, and the lingering scent of his mother only gives him small comfort, a short reprieve from the cold wrongness of the air in this cell. God, when will this be over?

* * *

They come in to bring food twice during the day, and when it hits ten thirty at night, Naomi returns. Castiel hasn’t moved much, only going to eat his food before returning to his corner. If he means to live after this, he’ll need his strength.

Who knows? Maybe he’ll have another chance to escape, and maybe this time he’ll succeed.

Maybe alphas and omegas will start being born naturally again, and maybe they’ll achieve world fucking peace. Fat chance.

“Things aren’t looking good for Dean,” Naomi says. “A couple of the council members have already asked for his execution.”

“Execution?” Castiel blurts out, gut clenching with fear.

“Yes, execution,” Naomi says evenly. “You saw what he did—you were in the room. He dropped eight men like they were nothing. Six of them are still in the hospital. Two of them will never walk again, with that kind of nerve damage.”

Castiel hadn’t even realized it at the time, but Dean  _had_  seemed to be going for the guards’ necks, shit.

“He’s just fortunate that none of them died from their injuries,” Naomi continues. “He scraped by with a five-to-four vote. But if this happens again, I doubt he’ll be so lucky.”

“He was  _provoked_ ,” Castiel argues. “And his reaction was only so violent because  _you_  made him that way! How can you push all the blame onto him?”

“I’m not pushing blame onto anyone,” Naomi responds impassively. “I laid the facts out before the council and left them to draw their own conclusions.”

“This is unfair,” Castiel says.

“Well, I can’t do anything about it. You, on the other hand, can.”

“What do you mean? I can’t do anything about  _anything_ ,” Castiel says, glaring up at her.

“Dean is out of control. You need to keep him under control.”

“ _I_  need to—oh, so  _you_  fuck everything up, and  _I’m_  the one who’s gotta clean up your mess,” Castiel says. “I don’t think so.”

“Dean is the one who will suffer the consequences if you don’t,” Naomi says, and oh, Castiel thought he hated her before, but his feelings from before pale in comparison to the fury coursing through him at present.

Yet he can’t do anything. The council is obviously on Naomi’s side. They would never rule in favor of a turned alpha who’s going against the system, regardless of whether or not he’s in the right.

Grinding his teeth, Castiel says, “Well you can’t expect me to ‘control’ him from here, can you? Where is he?”

“I’m about to take you to him.”

Castiel is moving before he realizes it, pushing himself to his feet, and he hates how eager his body is at the prospect of being near its mate again. Damn it.

But Naomi stops him when he tries to walk past her. “I can’t just let you go to him like this,” she says.

“What, do you still have a conscience?” Castiel says in mock-surprise.

Naomi is unaffected by the impudence, of course, and turns to lead him out of the room. There’s a man standing just outside the door, holding a heavy-looking vest.

“Put this on,” Naomi says.

“Are you joking?” Castiel says.

“Dean’s impulses should make him more protective of you than anything else, but it’s still best to take precautions,” Naomi explains. “Now put it on.”

Castiel slips the vest on, nose wrinkling at the scent of old, stale sweat. “Okay, it’s on,” he says when nobody moves. “Can we go, now?”

Naomi nods and leads the way down the hall. The walk is short, and Castiel doesn’t bother trying to memorize the way. He doesn’t really remember the directions to his original cell, and all the hallways look the same here, anyway.

Castiel knows when they’re getting close because he can smell Dean on the air, faint at first, then stronger and stronger. But the scent is warped, wrong, and it takes Castiel a moment to realize that it’s distress, infusing Dean’s woodsy, earth-warm scent with bitter-sour- _bad_.

A growl echoes down the hall as the scent grows stronger, making Castiel’s stomach turn a little.

There’s a loud bang, and Naomi says, “We tried to restrain him. He broke his own wrist just to get his hand free of one of the cuffs, so we had to remove them.”

Another bang, followed by a snarl.

Naomi stops in front of a door, a door that has no window, barred or not, a door that vibrates with the next bang.

A door that Dean is trying to break down, because Castiel is on the other side. The thought makes Castiel ache.

“Dean!” he calls, but there’s just another bang, this one louder than the last. “He’s going to hurt himself if you don’t let him out,” Castiel says to Naomi, surprised with himself at how urgent the words are. It’s enough that Dean broke his own wrist—Castiel can hardly imagine inflicting that sort of pain on himself. He doesn’t want Dean to break anything else.

Flesh can never win against metal.

“We can’t open the door until he calms down. Who knows what sort of damage he’ll do?” one of the guards says before Naomi can respond.

Castiel had hardly even noticed them standing around the hall, too lost in Dean’s fear and anger to pay attention to anyone else around him.

“Then leave,” he says. “Get out of the way, and give me the key.”

Naomi looks at Castiel speculatively. Then she says, “All right. Guards, we’re going to lock down this hallway.”

Of course the hallways have emergency lockdown procedures. Of course.

“Be careful,” Naomi says, pressing a key into Castiel’s hand, and for a split second, it seems as though she actually cares what happens to them.

The moment passes quickly, though, and then Naomi is striding down the hall. The guards clear out within ten seconds, and then metal dividers slide down at the ends of the hallway, leaving Castiel alone with the banging and snarling coming from Dean’s cell.

“Dean,” Castiel says, going up to the door, “Dean, it’s just me.”

Another loud bang makes the door vibrate, and Castiel sticks the key in the lock. He hesitates in turning it, because the last thing he wants is for Dean to run into the door right when Castiel unlocks it—he’d probably end up with a concussion or something.

Dean slams into the door again, and Castiel hurries and unlocks it, yanking it open before Dean can try again.

He’s hit full in the face with Dean’s fury, cloying and wrong, strong enough that he thinks he might throw up with it. And then he’s being smothered, held tight enough that he can hardly breathe. Castiel is almost grateful for it, because not breathing means he doesn’t have to suffer the full brunt of Dean’s wrath.

But eventually he starts growing lightheaded, and he tries to wriggle his arms where they’ve been awkwardly squashed between his chest and Dean’s.

Thankfully, Dean releases him. It’s only to rip the vest away from his body, but Castiel appreciates the few seconds that gives him to catch his breath before he’s drawn in again.

“Mine,” Dean murmurs unconsciously, and Castiel is startled, because when Dean was last like this, he had been beyond words.

Now, one of his hands rests on Castiel’s back to hold him close, and the other comes up to cup Castiel’s face. Dean’s thumb brushes over Castiel’s lips, and it feels only natural to part them, to let Dean’s thumb slip into his mouth.

Dean shudders, crowding in closer, eyes fixed on Castiel’s mouth, and Castiel moves his head forward just a fraction, closes his mouth around Dean’s thumb, and sucks, gently.

Dean growls, chest vibrating where it’s pressed against Castiel’s, and the fact that Castiel can control Dean’s reactions—the reactions of a man who was just trying to break down a steel door just to get to him, who put six men into the hospital like it was nothing—makes him feel… powerful.

He reaches up, pulls Dean’s hand away from his face, smiling at the regretful whine that slips out of Dean’s mouth.

“Dean,” he says, touching Dean’s cheek and loving the way that Dean turns his face into it only a little, so that he doesn’t have to take his eyes off Castiel. “Dean, it’s me.”

Then Castiel remembers that this morning, it had taken him saying his own name to pull Dean out of his—his “zone,” for lack of a better word.

But before Castiel can even open his mouth, Dean blinks, and his eyes clear.

“Cas.”


	8. Chapter 8

It’s a struggle to find himself, but Dean manages it, because his mate needs him. The harsh, dark reds bleeding into his vision gradually blink away when his mate is finally in his arms, and the pounding in his head fades out, too.

“Cas,” he says, forcing the word out of his mouth.

He’s still lucid, still human, still Dean.

“Dean,” Cas responds, and there’s no mistaking the relief in his voice and his eyes and the curve of his smile. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah, ‘course I’m okay,” Dean says, frowning.

Cas’s eyes drop to Dean’s wrist, and then he’s backing away, reaching behind him for Dean’s other arm. Dean lets him, because no one else is here; it’s only safe for Cas to step away if no one’s close enough to take him away again.

Cas examines Dean’s left arm, and oh, Dean hadn’t even realized that they’d put a brace on it. Even now that Cas has drawn his attention to it, his wrist doesn’t really hurt.

“Cas, I’m fine,” he says.

“How could you do this to yourself?”

“It’s not like I was thinking clearly,” Dean says. “They cuffed me. I didn’t know what else I could do.”

“You could have  _not_  hurt yourself,” Cas says stiffly.

He’s angry.

Dean doesn’t like it. He dips his head a little, trying and failing to catch Cas’s gaze. With a sigh, he pulls Cas in again, resting his chin on top of Cas’s head. “I’m fine,” he insists.

Then Dean remembers himself, remembers that this isn’t—that they’re not here by choice, so he lets his arms fall away, backs up a step. Cas looks up at him, confused, and Dean wants to kiss him so bad.

Instead, he says, “How did you… what are you doing here? I mean—” Dean pauses, looks up and down the hallway, and goes on, “—what’s going on? Why are we outside?”

“Naomi brought me here to calm you down,” Cas says.

“Shit, Cas, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For  _everything_ ,” Dean says. “I’m—I’m a fucking time bomb, now, and you’re stuck here because they don’t want me to blow.”

“Dean, we’re stuck here together. It’s not your fault.”

“Cas—”

“It’s not your fault,” Cas repeats, louder, “because you couldn’t control what was done to you. Just like I couldn’t stop them from putting—from doing everything that they did to me.”

One of Cas’s hands rests low on his belly, a hint of distress on the air, and Dean can’t stop himself from leaning in slightly, angling his head away to offer his neck. Cas steps in close before Dean can withdraw, and then he wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders, buries his face in Dean’s neck.

It feels good, so good,  _beyond_  good. Feels like the best thing in the world.

But Dean swallows hard, lifts his hands to grip Cas’s upper arms, and gently pulls them away from himself, stepping back again. This time, something almost like hurt seems to have mixed into the confusion in Cas’s eyes, but damn it, that’s not possible.

“Dean, what—”

“Don’t do this, Cas,” Dean says. “Don’t—don’t try to—to seduce me, or whatever it is you’re trying, just to get us off the hook.”

“I only wanted to hold you,” Cas says, voice small, and great, Dean feels like a piece of shit. “But even if I was going to try and seduce you, it wouldn’t be for them, or for Naomi. Dean, you’re—you’ve been nothing but a gentleman—”

Dean snorts at Cas’s poor choice of words, because yeah, he’s been a gentleman, all right. A raging and snarling gentleman.

“You’ve been considerate,” Cas corrects himself, hands coming up to hold Dean’s head still when Dean tries to turn away. “You could have taken what you wanted from me, or at least what your body wanted from mine, but you refrained. I’ve been led to believe that that was practically impossible, but you did it.”

“Cas,” Dean starts, but he doesn’t even know what to say, so he just shakes his head.

“Dean, you are more than I could ever have hoped for. Do you understand that?” Cas says.

“Yeah. No. What are you saying?”

“I am saying that you shouldn’t presume to know whether or not I want this, whatever this is, between us. Not when I can choose it.”

“Yeah, sure, you can choose it,” Dean scoffs. “It’s a pretty easy choice, isn’t it? Fuck me, or die.”

“Dean, that’s not what I mean,” Cas says. “I can’t say for sure, but even if we weren’t here, even if I’d never gotten the treatments, I feel like I’d… like there’d be potential, between you and me.”

“Yeah well, any ‘potential’ was screwed to shit by all the crap they did to us,” Dean says, casting a look toward one end of the hall at random—he figures a camera somewhere will catch his scorn.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t still choose you, Dean.”

“Cas, you literally have no other choice,” Dean says tiredly. “How can you expect me to just accept that you’re choosing this because you want this when you have no other choice?”

Cas sighs and leans up onto his toes, kissing Dean quickly before dropping back down again. “Dean, I find you very frustrating,” he says before stalking past Dean and into the cell behind him.

Reeling a little, Dean turns and sees that Cas is sitting down on the bed—the conveniently large bed, because these fuckers probably planned this all, expected that Cas would feel bad about everything that happened to Dean, that he’d inevitably cave and try to convince Dean that it was all okay.

_Nothing_  is okay about this.

Dean had come in here with the expectation that both parties would have signed on of their own free will, but he knows that Cas objected strongly enough that he wanted to run away, and that… changes things.

“Dean, come inside,” Cas says. “People will need to use this hallway.”

“What, you’re gonna have me walk right back into my cage.”

Cas lifts one eyebrow. “I just walked into your cage, didn’t I?” When Dean doesn’t move, he adds, “We can’t just break out of here. I tried, remember? And how much do you wanna bet they’re watching the feed right now, listening to every word that we’re saying?”

Dean’s shoulders slump a little, because yeah, Cas is right. Dean could try to fight his way out, but they’d have to open a door for him to do that, and the hallway is sealed on both ends, as far as he can tell. Even if he did have a chance to fight, he’s just one guy. They’ve got tons of guards stationed in the compound. There’s no way he’s gonna force his way out of here, and besides, him running away will put a lot of heat on his family.

And Sammy will get put into the system.

It’s a jarring reminder of why Dean is here, and shit, no matter how bad Dean feels for Cas, there’s no way he’ll put Sam at risk. It goes against every fiber of his being to even  _consider_  it.

Dean walks back into his cell and pulls the door closed behind him. Looking at Cas, he says, “Okay, what now?”

Cas shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.”

A moment later, the door locks from the outside, trapping them inside together. Cas smiles up at him, a little shakily, and Dean does his best to smile back, because he’s gotta be strong for his mate.

They’ll get through this, one way or another.


	9. Chapter 9

They’re left alone for all of the next day, the cell door opening a couple times so that guards can bring them their meals. They pass the time talking about their respective lives. Dean tells Cas all about Mom and Dad, and Sammy. He tells him about graduating and going to work with Dad, tells him about learning how to cook from Mom.

In return he hears about Cas’s parents. He finds out that Cas also has a little brother, also nicknamed Sammy, except that it’s short for _Samandriel_ , which is a pretty damn awful name, Dean thinks. He learns that Cas’s Sammy is still eight years old, too young to really understand why Cas is even gone, and when Cas gets to that, he goes quiet, grim. Dean wants to make that expression go away, because Cas is a teenager—he should be fucking around and having _fun_ , not stuck here in the holding cell of a compound, waiting to be bred.

“I’m a child of 0918,” Cas says after they’ve fallen silent.

“Shit, really?” Dean asks.

“Naomi brought my birth mother in to see me yesterday, before she took me to you.”

“Oh, god. Why’d she do that?”

“I assume she hoped that meeting her would set me straight about why I’m here,” Cas says.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“We already are talking about it.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just doesn’t say anything.

Then Cas asks, “Do you know your birth parents?”

“Yeah,” Dean answers. “Well—I’ve never seen them, but I know their names. My dad grew up with my birth father, and I guess he pulled some strings to get me. Sam’s my brother by blood, too.” It hadn’t been difficult to get Sam, of course—parents who ask for a second or third child usually get children from the same set of birth parents, presumably to help the kids feel more connected with each other.

“Which compound are they in?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?” Dean responds. “God, this is fucked up.”

It’s probably about time they started talking about it, Dean figures. They’ve spent all morning avoiding the subject, as though they’re not locked up in here because they disobeyed orders to fuck each other.

“I can’t imagine what more they can do to us,” Cas says quietly. “Did Naomi tell you anything about what went on yesterday?”

“If she did, I don’t remember any of it,” Dean says.

All he remembers of yesterday is anger, worry, a gnawing ache inside his chest because Cas wasn’t there. It had only cleared up when Cas was in his arms, scent familiar and grounding.

“What happened?” Dean asks, because Cas looks hesitant.

“Eight of the men you took down yesterday were still in the hospital yesterday, and two of them are paralyzed from the neck down,” Cas says. Dean doesn’t know what to say, because shit, he’s only gotten into a few fights as a teenager, and he doesn’t think he’s ever put someone in the hospital before. “It’s worse, though,” Cas continues. “They… the council almost voted to have you executed.”

Dean stares. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not,” Cas says. “But I don’t think this would be good for them, if it got out. You only reacted the way you did because of whatever they did to you. I doubt the public would be on their side if they really had you killed.”

“The public,” Dean scoffs. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard news about what actually happened in the compounds, when I was on the outside.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Cas concedes.

They fall silent, and Dean shudders at the thought that he was almost sentenced to death because he didn’t want to rape a kid. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Dean,” Cas says.

Dean looks up from his hands—he’s been sitting on the floor, leaning on the wall across the room from the bed—and sees Cas getting off the bed, coming toward him. Yes, _finally_ , a voice in Dean’s head says, urging Cas closer.

But no, he shouldn’t want this. He and Cas aren’t anything to each other, not for real.

“You and I aren’t leaving here anytime soon,” Cas says, kneeling down in front of Dean and resting his hands on Dean’s knees. “I’d really like it if you didn’t leave here in a body bag.”

“Gee, thanks,” Dean says, trying to keep his tone light, but it’s hard to ignore the way Cas’s thumbs are moving in slow circles over Dean’s cloth-covered knees. A part of him wants to grab onto Cas, pull him into his lap, and get him nice and wet, dripping for it. Swallowing hard, Dean asks, “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Cas says. “I’ve never done this before.”

“We don’t have to do this.”

Cas leans in, and Dean freezes up, thinking that he’s coming in for a kiss. But Cas goes for Dean’s ear instead, kissing Dean’s jaw. “Except that we do,” he whispers in response to Dean’s words from before. “I want to live, and I want you to live. You were almost killed because of what Naomi did to you.”

Dean doesn’t have an argument against that, because he _doesn’t_ want to die. But he can hardly stomach the thought of the alternative, of giving in to the voice that keeps telling him that his omega is ready and wanting, that he’s being stupid for not yanking him close and _taking_.

It _isn’t him_.

But then Cas is pulling back slightly, looking Dean in the eyes, and Dean can’t look away because Cas’s eyes are the color of the cloudless sky on a hot summer day, because his scent is fresh and honey-sweet, calling out for Dean, making his blood sing.

“Cas…” Dean starts, but then Cas licks his lips, and Dean can’t help but track the motion with his eyes. He wants to follow it up with his tongue, wants to lick right into that mouth, get those lips nice and red and kiss-swollen. It takes a hell of a lot of effort for Dean to drag his eyes away, but when he meets Cas’s gaze, he finds a surprisingly knowing look in them.

“Dean, you want this, don’t you?”

“No,” Dean says automatically.

Undeterred, Cas shifts closer, and Dean takes a deep breath and holds it, because shit, he can’t deal with how good Cas smells right now, not when Cas is saying, low and confident, “But you want me.”

Dean closes his eyes. “I don’t want it like this.”

“But you want me,” Cas repeats, hands coming up to frame Dean’s face.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters.

“Why can’t you believe that I might want you, despite everything?”

“I just can’t,” Dean says, but he already feels Cas’s breath against his lips, and it’s impossible for him not to tip his head forward, because it’s his mate, his omega, his _Cas_ , and he _wants_.

They’re on the floor, locked up together in a nondescript cell, and Dean doesn’t think he’s ever felt so fucking helpless before, too weak to do what he’s supposed to do, too weak to push Cas away. He reaches out blindly and pulls Cas in, and it’s gotta be wrong how perfectly they fit together.

It’s _gotta_ be.

Cas shivers a little in Dean’s hold, climbing into his lap, and Dean groans, rolling his hips up. “No, Cas—shit, we can’t,” Dean says, pushing at Cas’s shoulders.

“Dean, don’t get shy on me,” Cas says. “You’ve had your whole hand up my ass.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean breathes, because how the hell had he forgotten about that? “Cas, that wasn’t—I mean, fuck.” He takes another deep breath to steady himself and says, “You really don’t wanna do this. I can’t say that I won’t hurt you. I can’t—they did a number on me, Cas. I don’t trust myself not to hurt you.”

“I trust you, Dean,” Cas says, hands sliding up into Dean’s hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp. Dean wants to argue, but Cas just kisses him again and murmurs into his lips, “I trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially all that I have written for this fic so far. I can't say how often I'll be updating, but I'll try to keep it at least semi-regular. Thanks for reading!
> 
> EDIT: Oh and also, if you happen to be someone who is following Reapers (bahaha, all like three of you), I didn't update this month bc of dcbb, and tfw bb is coming up, meep. I'll definitely post next month, though. I'm a little shit. Sorryyyy x.x


	10. Chapter 10

Dean opens his mouth, tilts his head into the kiss, and Castiel feels relieved. No, better than that—he feels  _victorious_. He loses himself in the next few kisses, long and slow and molten, his senses eagerly soaking up every bit of detail they can about his alpha, about Dean.

Castiel maps the shapes of Dean’s cheekbones and jaw, cradles the back of his head, fingers slipping through soft hair, and finally smooths his hands down the broad expanse of Dean’s back.

Dean is perfect.

Dean is  _alpha_.

Dean is safe and warm and everything Castiel has ever wanted.

At least, that’s what his body wants him to think.

But maybe he wants to be fooled. It’s easier to kiss Dean when he puts his thoughts out of his head, when he just goes with his biology.

Easier is the wrong word for it. It isn’t  _hard_  to kiss Dean, not in the slightest. Disregarding the mate-scent completely, Castiel is fully aware that he has never kissed someone who was so  _good_  at it, before. Dean is undeniably skilled with his lips and tongue, and Castiel feels dizzy with it, almost lightheaded.

Castiel rocks his hips down against Dean’s erection, and the pressure is good, but Castiel can’t stop the jolt of fear and disgust that rise up in him as he feels himself loosening up, feels the wetness sliding between his cheeks.

“Shit,” Dean whispers, and of course Dean would be able to smell it on him. Of _course_.

“No, I want this,” Castiel insists, pressing forward with another kiss before Dean can argue.

It was hard enough to coax his stubborn, protective— _perfect-so-perfect_ —alpha into this makeout session against a wall, and Castiel will not back down, not now that he’s finally getting somewhere.

It doesn’t take as long for Dean to relax back into it, hands resting on the spurs of Castiel’s hips, clenching and releasing, only  _just_  encouraging him to move.

Dean doesn’t seem inclined to go anywhere, but Castiel doesn’t want to do this on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed just across the room from them. He starts pulling back, a little at a time, pleased when Dean starts sitting up, away from the wall, following him. Castiel slips one hand up the back of Dean’s shirt and hooks the other around the back of his neck, scratching his fingers through the short hair there.

A rumbling sound starts from deep in Dean’s chest, and Castiel basks in his alpha’s approval. He draws back, breaks the kiss, and suggests, “Bed?”

Dean’s eyes flick open, and Castiel sees the fear and worry and self-loathing settling in, ready to choke the life out of the part of Dean that actually wants this.

Castiel is quick to speak, intentionally brings his voice to something like a whine, something pitiable. Something that would be hard for his alpha to deny.

“Please, Dean,” he starts, pausing to lick his lips and buy himself time.

He must choose his words carefully, because Dean is like a spooked animal, and Castiel doesn’t want to drive him away.

“Please, bed. I want you in bed,” Castiel says plaintively, pressing his temple against the bolt of Dean’s jaw and leaving the bare length of his neck easily accessible. It comes more naturally than Castiel would have liked, the omega inside him desperate to please this strong alpha, desperate to be bred by him.

He wonders if Dean can even see the manipulation, or if the feral part of him, the fucked up part that the scientists forced into him post-transition, is clouding his judgment.

It doesn’t matter either way, though, because Dean lets out a helpless, frustrated sound before pushing Castiel out of his lap, getting to his feet, and hauling Castiel up into his arms. He crosses the cell quickly and deposits Castiel on the bed, and Castiel wonders if he’s always been this strong, or if it’s the alpha traits manifesting in him.

The seat of Castiel’s pants is already starting to soak through, that horrible, new part of himself almost unbearably aroused at the display of his mate’s virility. Without even really thinking about it, Castiel shoves the standard-issue pants off his hips, taking his underwear off with them.

Dean freezes at the foot of the bed, rigid, and Castiel curses himself for losing control. Too much, too fast.

Castiel reaches a hand out for Dean, uncomfortably aware of how obvious his slick smells in the room now that he is exposed. It’s sickly-sweet, almost gross, to Castiel’s nose. But from the way Dean’s pupils are rapidly dilating, the way his nostrils flare and his breaths deepen, it smells a hell of a lot better to him than it does to Castiel.

“Dean,” Castiel breathes, and he hadn’t even meant for his voice to waver, but it does it all on its own, which is all for the better, really.

Carefully,  _carefully_.

“Alpha, please,” he tries, and Dean breaks.

His alpha strips quickly and efficiently before getting onto the bed with Castiel and gathering his wrists above his head. He yanks Castiel’s shirt off over his head, but before it is completely off, Dean twists the material around Castiel’s wrists, trapping them.

“Do you have any idea what the hell you’re doing?” Dean snarls, and it appears Castiel might have overestimated how affected Dean was by what was done to him.

Or maybe he’s just underestimated Dean’s ability to claw his way back to himself.

“Keep playing with fire, Cas, and you’re gonna get burned,” Dean goes on heatedly.

He’s breathing harshly, entire frame stiff. It must be taking him a great deal of effort to restrain himself.

Castiel only needs to push a little further.

He deftly twists one wrist free and reaches down to take Dean in hand, intending to tease him, but he pauses, a little terrified by the sheer size of him.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says after stifling a moan. He’s trembling, barely holding it together. “We’re not—we can’t—”

Castiel tunes out Dean’s half-formed denials, still taken aback by the fact that this is supposed to fit  _inside_  him. Castiel’s hand almost cannot close around Dean’s girth, and when he slides his hand down to the base, he notes that Dean’s knot hasn’t even begun to swell.

Yet despite the fear in Castiel’s mind, heat coils in his lower belly, his muscles relaxing further in excited anticipation, and his body produces a gush of slick, wetting the cot beneath him.

Dean groans, rolling his hips into Castiel’s hand. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, this isn’t—we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“This is exactly what we should be doing,” Castiel says, voice slightly unsteady. It’s not intentional, this time. His body is priming to take Dean, and Castiel feels oddly hollow, almost like he did when he was in heat.

Dean opens his mouth to protest, and Castiel just—needs to get this moving. So he surges up and presses his mouth to Dean’s, heading him off before he can speak. While Dean is distracted, Castiel braces his feet on the bed and lifts his hips just so, directing Dean’s cock toward his entrance.

“Shit— _Cas!_ ” Dean says, breaking their kiss and pulling his hips away before Castiel can shove back onto him.

The bereft whine that slips out of Castiel’s mouth startles himself as much as it does Dean.

“If—if we’re doing this, we gotta at least stretch you,” Dean says.

Castiel shoots him an annoyed look. “They remade us for each other,” he says. “Don’t you think they would’ve taken into account the relative sizes of tab A and slot B?”

“Cas,” Dean says, pointlessly, meaninglessly.

“Just—do it, Dean,” Castiel says. He clenches down around nothing, achingly empty. “Don’t make me beg, Dean.”

Dean takes a deep breath. “Fuck. You sure about this?”

“For the hundredth time,  _yes_ ,” Castiel says.

The fondness in Dean’s eyes at this response is unexpected, and something warm wells up in Castiel’s chest at the sight.

Then Dean says, “You should get on your hands and knees. It’ll be uh—” he pauses, struggling, and settles on “—easier.”

Castiel thinks he would prefer to see Dean’s face, but at least Dean is finally getting with the program. Dean backs away, and Castiel shuffles onto his hands and knees, as instructed. Dean drapes himself over Castiel’s back then, and oh, this is nice. His weight on Castiel is reassuring, grounding, and yes, this was a good suggestion.

He supposes this is the reason why people say omegas like to be taken “doggy-style.”

Castiel suppresses a shudder at the reminder of his life on the outside. He wasn’t like this, before. Slick slides down his inner thighs, his hole clenching and relaxing as it waits for Dean, ready to be fucked full.

This isn’t him. This needy omega panting after an alpha’s knot is  _not him_.

Castiel’s thoughts grind to a halt as something thick and blunt presses against his rim, just slightly. A tease.

He lets out a shaky exhale and pushes back into it a little.

He’s empty, so empty.

But Dean doesn’t move, just hovers where he is and presses sloppy-wet kisses all along Cas’s left shoulder blade and up the side of his neck.

“Do it,” Castiel urges.

Logically, he thinks Dean was right about the stretching, but his body knows its limits better than he does—his body isn’t even  _his_  body anymore, strictly speaking, so of course it knows itself better than he does.

Regardless, the first push sends a twinge of pain rocketing up Castiel’s spine. He grits his teeth through it as the head of Dean’s cock slips inside, and Dean makes a shocked sound against the side of his neck.

“Jesus fuck,  _Cas_ ,” he says.

“More, please. All the way,” Castiel responds.

He drops down to his elbows, arching his back a little, and Dean actually growls in response, making the hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck stand up.

Dean inhales deeply, and Castiel breathes with him, bracing himself. Then Dean shoves his hips forward, and Castiel squeezes his eyes closed, anticipating another pulse of pain.

Instead, a wail of pleasure bursts out of his throat as the hungry void inside him is finally filled, blissfully, completely.

He almost protests when Dean starts pulling out, but he drives right back in, punching the air right out of Castiel’s lungs.

“Oh,” he gasps as Dean repeats the motion once, then again, slowly building up a rhythm.

“Oh, god,” Dean groans, speeding up a little. “Oh—yes, fuck.”

Castiel trembles, losing himself in the sensations. Each time Dean slides fully into him, Castiel clenches down involuntarily, as though his body wants to trap Dean inside him, knotted or not.

It doesn’t take long for Dean to find—and then target—Castiel’s prostate, and faster than he’d expected, Castiel realizes that he is going to come.

“Dean—” he starts, intending to tell Dean to slow down, because some part of him is apparently a sap and wants Dean to come with him.

But Dean is already there with him, knot starting to catch at Castiel’s rim each time he pulls out or presses in, and Castiel yelps at the feeling of it, wanting more.

God, he needs Dean locked up inside him, needs Dean to fill him to the brim, needs to swell with Dean’s child.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Castiel jerks back from the thoughts, revolted.

But he’s already too close to the edge, coming apart at the seams, fraying, and when Dean finally plunges in and can’t pull back out, Castiel comes hard enough that his hearing fades out and his head goes fuzzy, strangely light, as though he’s floating.

He’s faintly aware of Dean swearing up a storm as he comes, but it seems relatively insignificant, and Castiel lets himself be carried away for a while.

He fades back in to the feeling of Dean plastered over his back, pressing languid, uncoordinated kisses to the back of his neck. He feels entirely blanketed by Dean, bracketed in by his mate, and it is… quite possibly the most comforting thing he has ever felt before.

He’s safe. Loved. Wanted.

But Castiel can only lie underneath someone for so long before gravity starts taking a toll on him. “Heavy,” he eventually says, regretfully.

“Mm. Sorry,” Dean grunts, bracing his weight on his elbows.

He starts to shift, but then he lets out a surprised gasp, and—oh. Castiel can feel Dean pulsing inside him with a second load of come, can feel the pressure increasing low in his belly. Are alphas are supposed to produce this much semen, or have Naomi and her team screwed that up, too? Castiel guesses he’ll probably never know.

The omega inside him is practically purring, though, delighted to be stretched tight, full to bursting, plugged up nice and good, not a drop of his alpha’s come wasted.

Castiel is just relieved that he’s still riding high on the endorphins from his orgasm, because it allows him to avoid thinking too closely about those thoughts, getting too close to that part of himself that  _isn’t him_.

“You okay?” Dean says, voice hoarse, words a little slurred together.

Castiel thinks he likes hearing Dean talk when he’s like this, drunk on pleasure. “I’m fine,” Castiel answers him. It’s not a complete lie.

Things could be worse.

Dean shifts them onto their sides and pulls Castiel in close. Just after they get settled in, Dean comes a third time, and Castiel almost thinks his belly looks distended. He must be imagining it.

“Do you think that was the last one?” Castiel asks.

“I have no idea,” Dean admits, hands coming down to rub at Castiel’s lower belly. Castiel grits his teeth at the implication and wonders whether Dean is even doing it consciously—surely he isn’t.

But Dean radiates so much calm satisfaction that Castiel can’t help but be infected by it.

So he just closes his eyes and ignores the placement of Dean’s hands, concentrating instead on the feeling of being held, on the tenderness in Dean’s touch, on the slightest hint of sweetness in Dean’s scent.

“Sleep now,” Dean murmurs, and Castiel does.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my friend reminded me two days ago that it was 0918 and I panicked and wrote the next part of this fic and just threw it up on tumblr with literally MINUTES to spare, bahah. And then I was too lazy to copy it over to post here, and it wouldn't have been listed as an update on Sept. 18 anyway, since ao3 runs on EST (I think?).
> 
> Anyway. Here it is, two days later, ahaha.
> 
> (Also, please go easy on me as you read this bc I was very tired after a very stressful day in the middle of a very stressful week. Things have not been easy for me lately x.x)

“Do you think it took?” Cas asks after their nap.

Dean almost flinches. They’re lying on their sides, facing each other now that they’re not stuck together anymore, and Dean has his eyes closed so that he doesn’t have to look at Cas.

To Dean’s relief, Cas lets the question go, hands coming up to circle Dean’s wrist. “Does it hurt?” he asks.

“Not a bit,” Dean answers. “I think it’s healed.”

“Do alphas heal faster than average people?” Cas asks, and Dean can tell from his tone that he’s frowning. Dean lets Cas move his wrist, and then he feels Cas’s nose gently pressing against the sensitive skin of the underside, inhaling.

“What’re you doing?”

“You… smell different,” Cas says. “It’s subtle, though.”

Dean hadn’t noticed. But he’d definitely noticed that Cas’s scent changed, after the knotting. Before, he’d smelled irresistibly good, smelled like mate, but now… now, he smells like  _mine_.

Dean isn’t sure whether or not they had a way of going back before, but after what they did today, there’s no going back.

“Your scent changed, too,” Dean tells Cas, opening his eyes as he finishes speaking. “Not subtle at all.”

Cas visibly shudders. “Of course it wouldn’t be subtle,” he answers. “I’m owned, and the world needs to know it.”

“Cas…”

“Not that the world ever  _will_  know it, since we’re stuck in this cell. And even if they let us out of the cell, they’ll never let us out of the compound,” Cas says, bitterness emanating from him, cloying.

Dean kisses him without even thinking about it, quick and short, and then he gathers Cas in, disproportionately pleased when Cas’s arms come up to cling to him.

“This sucks, but we’ll pull through,” Dean says. “We’ll be okay, Cas. I promise.”

After a pause, Cas says, head tucked underneath Dean’s chin, “I’m glad it was you.”

“You don’t know what it would’ve been like if it were someone else. I only did what a decent person would do.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Cas says. “You probably could’ve taken me that first night, whether or not I had that kitchen knife. And you definitely could’ve had me when they sent me back all drugged up and—and—”

“Induced,” Dean supplies.

“The point is, you didn’t,” Cas says. “That’s beyond decent, Dean, and I’m… grateful.” He pauses, then repeats, “I’m glad it was you.”

“I’m glad it was me, too,” Dean admits. “God, just the  _thought_  of anyone else’s hands on you—”

An honest-to-god growl comes out of his mouth before he can stop it, and he freezes up, startled. In his arms, Cas doesn’t even tense up, just starts laughing, and Dean eventually lets out a chuckle of his own.

Cas presses against Dean’s chest then, and Dean lets himself be pushed onto his back. Cas throws a leg over him, straddling his hips, and Dean swallows hard as he scents the first stirrings of arousal coming from Cas, a hint of slick in the air.

“Cas, I don’t know if I can get it up right now,” Dean says. It’s only been a few years since he was a teenager, but the fact remains that he’s  _not_  a teenager anymore.

But beyond the physical aspect, Dean still feels uneasy, like they already pushed too far too fast, but then Cas is lifting himself up just a little, legs spread wide, leaning back to expose his hole to Dean’s eyes, and fuck,  _fuck_ , Dean had thought that seeing Cas in the throes of orgasm was the most obscene thing he’d ever seen, but  _this_ —

Cas flexes his hips a little, and Dean can’t look away as a mix of come and slick leaks from Cas’s opening.

“Shit,” he breathes, unable to stop himself from reaching out, pushing his thumb up in there and watching the mess of liquid that gets squeezed out around his finger.

Cas makes a breathy sound, and shitfuck, Dean’s not a teenager anymore, but apparently the new and improved alpha cock the scientists gave him doesn’t give a fuck about refractory periods, because he’s hard, throbbing, aching with want.

Cas straightens up again, gets on his knees, and Dean lets his hands rest on the outsides of Cas’s thighs, surprised by the lack of hair there.

“Have you always been this hairless?” Dean asks, and Cas stiffens up for just a moment, which is answer enough.

Dean curses his mouth for running off like that, reminding Cas of all the shit that’s been done to them. At the very least, he should be making sure that this a positive experience.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs, leaning forward and kissing him soundly. He pulls back too soon and says, “I can practically  _hear_  you blaming yourself for my feelings. Please don’t.”

Dean huffs, but Cas kisses him before he can answer.

Then there’s a slick hand wrapping around him, jacking him nice and slow, deliberate, and Dean really doesn’t remember what they were talking about, and he doesn’t think he cares.

Cas sinks down onto him in one motion, tight and hot and so, so wet. They groan together, and Dean’s grip tightens on Cas’s thighs as he resists the urge to plant his feet on the bed and just fuck up into Cas.

God, Dean wants to  _ruin_  him.

“Then do it,” Cas gasps, and Dean realizes belatedly that he might’ve said that last bit aloud.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean grits out, rolling his hips a little and loving the way Cas moans and clenches around him, practically vibrating with need. “Ride me,” he says. “You gotta show me how bad you want me to ruin you.”

Cas’s head tips back a little, lips parted, and Dean feasts his eyes on the play of muscle and bone in Cas’s neck, his chest, the slender arches of his collar bones. Then Cas starts riding him, lifting up and dropping back down, huffing with exertion.

Cas actually yelps when he accidentally hits his prostate, and Dean grasps his hips, directs them so that he keeps going at that angle.

“Fuck!” Cas gasps. “Fuck! Dean—Dean, please—”

Dean could never deny his omega, his Cas, anything—not when he’s begging in that tone. So he flips them over in one swift motion and settles in between Cas’s thighs, driving back in without preamble. Cas nearly screams with the first thrust, hands flying up to grab at Dean’s shoulders.

God, Dean has never had anyone so good, so perfect, slick and hot and rippling around him.

“Mine,” he grunts, pushing into Cas again, again, again.

“Yes,” Cas gasps. “Yes, yours, always.”

The alpha in Dean crows with delight, and holy crap, Dean can feel his knot swelling up already. Fuck, he was tied off inside Cas not so long ago, and it had felt like the best thing he’d ever felt before, but it’s still a little freaky to feel his fucking dick start to swell up.

“Knot,” Cas says. “Knot, alpha,  _now_.”

“Fuck,” Dean bites out, plunging in one last time and tying Cas, practically on command.

As if on cue, Cas tightens up around him and comes, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy, and Dean groans, shooting his load into Cas. How he still has anything left in his balls is beyond him, but it’s hard to care about scientists fucking around with his body when everything feels so goddamn  _good_.

Cas almost looks dazed when he opens his eyes again, and Dean smiles, kisses his slack mouth slowly, gently.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas whispers meaninglessly, fingers carding through his hair, and Dean just enjoys the soft touch and resolves to put that look on Cas’s face as much as he possibly can.


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel wakes to the sound of someone rapping on the cell door from the outside. When he opens his eyes, he sees Dean staring at him from across the pillow, eyes alert.

“How long have you been awake?” Castiel asks groggily, trying and failing to suppress a yawn.

“Don’t know,” Dean says, shrugging one shoulder. “You looked so peaceful.”

A voice comes from outside their cell—”Dean. Castiel.”

That sounds like Naomi.

“What do you think they want?” Castiel asks Dean.

“I’m going to open this door, now. If either of you attempts to attack me, the council will have you both executed, without a doubt.”

Dean just sighs and pulls Castiel a little closer.

The door opens, and Naomi steps inside, followed by several heavily armed guards. “Good morning, boys,” she says.

“It  _was_  a good morning, ‘til you came in,” Dean grumbles.

“Then I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear the news I’ve got for you,” Naomi says. “You’re free to return to your quarters. You’ll be summoned once a week for the first month, but after that, I expect we won’t be seeing much of each other anymore.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to make of this. After threatening to kill Dean, how could they possibly decide to just—let him go again?

Then again, they have monitoring devices everywhere in the facility. They’ve got cameras and security guards, armed with tranqs and guns. Dean may be able to take down several men on his own, but he could never fight his way out of here.

“Get dressed. The guards will lead you out of the holding facility when you’re ready,” Naomi says, and then she stalks out of the room.

Castiel sighs and shifts a little closer to Dean, touching their noses together, but then one of the guards clears his throat loudly, and Castiel shies away, jarred. Dean sits up and growls, upper lip pulled back slightly, and Castiel immediately grabs onto his elbow, worried that he might do something reckless.

“Let’s just go,” Dean says. To the guards, he adds, “Will you turn around at least, while we put some clothes on?”

One of the men sets a bundle down at the foot of the bed—clean clothing, most likely—before stepping back and turning around. Castiel takes his time getting dressed, but eventually he and Dean are ready to go, and the guards lead them through the maze of hallways until they reach the exit.

When they walk out into the sunshine, though, none of the guards follow, and Castiel is surprised that he and Dean are allowed to return to their “quarters” unsupervised.

“I hate this place,” Dean says as they walk through the large courtyard between the three northern residence complexes. On the opposite end of the main facility are supposedly three more complexes, but Castiel has never seen them before.

In lieu of a verbal response, Castiel reaches out and takes Dean’s hand, twining their fingers together. The anger simmering within Dean seems to cool a little, the air between them growing lighter.

When they enter their building, a woman is coming down the stairs, humming to herself. She stops when she sees them, surprised, and Castiel sniffs carefully.

Alpha?

He thought they didn’t make female alphas.

“Wow. So they really did let you out today,” the woman says.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Uh, who are you?”

“Charlie,” the woman responds, coming the rest of the way down the stairs and bouncing to a stop in front of them, sticking her hand out. As Dean shakes her hand, she says, “I’m Tessa’s mate.”

Castiel doesn’t know who Tessa is, but from the way Dean nods, he probably does. Then Charlie is holding her hand out to Castiel, and he accepts, shaking her hand quickly before drawing back.

“You can quit staring, y’know,” Charlie says.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says. “I just—didn’t think they transitioned females into alphas.”

“Pfft. As though putting a dick and balls on a beta female is any harder for them than growing a womb inside a beta male,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes.

Castiel supposes she has a point.

After a pause, the alpha leans a little closer to Castiel and says, “Y’know, there’s been a lot of talk about you.”

Dean immediately gives Castiel a light tug backwards, eyes narrowing, and Castiel squeezes his hand to hopefully keep him grounded.

“Sheesh,” Charlie says, backing up a step. “Not gonna touch him. He’s all yours, promise.”

“What kind of  _talk_  has there been?” Dean asks through gritted teeth.

“Well, we heard what happened with you guys,” Charlie says. When Castiel shoots her a questioning look, she explains, “One of the guards is really chatty, is all. Anyway, word’s out that you’ve got the touch—that you’re the omega.”

“What omega?” Castiel asks.

“Oh, this is bullshit,” Dean says, clearly unimpressed with the turn the conversation has taken.

“You know,  _the_  omega. Capital T, capital O,  _The_  Omega.”

“I don’t—” Castiel starts, but Dean just drags him past Charlie and up the stairs.

“As riveting as this was, don’t go shoving your nonsense into his head,” Dean says as they climb up.

Charlie doesn’t answer, and Castiel allows Dean to lead him up to their “apartment” without protest.

Once they’re inside, though, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he asks, “What was she talking about?”

“Superstitious shit,” Dean says. “Don’t bother with that kind of stuff.”

Castiel frowns. “If a lot of people are saying something about me, I’d like to be able to understand it, at the very least, whether or not it’s just superstition.”

“It’s just a really stupid, old story that parents use to scare their kids at night,” Dean says, shrugging.

“My parents weren’t much into telling bedtime stories,” Castiel says.

“Yeah well, it’s stupid. They’ll stop talking about us when this all dies down. They’re probably just interested because we’re the first… I don’t know,  _thing_  that’s happened here in forever,” Dean says.

“I don’t understand why you’re so reluctant to tell it if it’s just a stupid story.”

Dean sighs heavily and walks over to the couch, dropping down onto it with a huff. “It’s framed in a way that makes it… I don’t know, easy to believe, I guess.”

“I’m not superstitious, Dean. You don’t have to worry about me believing it,” Castiel says, raising an eyebrow as he joins Dean on the couch.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, shaking his head. “Well, way, way back, the world was ruled by alphas and omegas, and betas were their servants. And back then, there was a prophecy that one day, the betas would rise up against their masters, in retaliation for generations and generations of oppression.”

“I don’t see how this is supposed to scare children,” Castiel says. “It’s just history, dramatized.”

Ignoring Castiel’s comment, Dean continues, “The prophecy said that the alpha-omega resistance would be led by a mated pair, The Alpha and The Omega, and that they would be doomed to fail—The Omega would be slain, The Alpha would fall apart, and the resistance would crumble.”

“Again, it’s just fanciful history,” Castiel says. Frowning, he asks, “Why would Charlie call me The Omega if The Omega was killed however-many years ago, in this myth?”

“That is the part that parents use nowadays to scare their kids,” Dean answers. “The last part of the prophecy said that long after all was lost, The Omega would be reborn from the ashes of the old empires. The Alpha would return to claim her, and united, they’d restore the rightful world order.”

Castiel laughs. “ _Rightful_  world order? I paid attention in my history lessons. Nothing was  _rightful_  about the way alphas and omegas treated betas in the past.”

“Cas, the prophecy came out of that time,” Dean says.

“I get that. What I mean is, the people saying that I’m The Omega are modern day people,” Castiel points out. “And it makes no sense, anyway. Why would I have anything to do with that?”

“Oh, there were just—qualities that went with the myth,” Dean says, shrugging. “One of them was that The Omega could control alphas. I figure this guard they’ve got talking to them said something about you…  _taming_  me, or something.”

“Dean, I did nothing. You restrained yourself,” Castiel says.

“Well yeah, but they wouldn’t have heard that,” Dean replies. “Look, don’t worry about it. It’ll all blow over, and things will… go back to normal, I guess.”

Castiel manages a small smile. “Normal. Nothing is normal about this.”

“No, not really,” Dean agrees with a sigh. Then he gets to his feet. “But hey! At least we’ve got a kitchen. I’m gonna make us something to eat—I’m starved. Suggestions?”

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Castiel says, and follows Dean over to the kitchen.

It is a clever story, Castiel decides as Dean pulls open the fridge and tuts over the contents. If the story did indeed come from ancient times, then ancient people just happened to predict history very well—not so amazing, given the way they treated betas.

If it was written more recently with the intent of keeping beta children afraid of alphas and omegas—a far more likely possibility—then the story’s strong root in history would indeed make it very easy to believe.

If one were inclined to believe in prophecies and reincarnation, that is.

Castiel doesn’t have those inclinations and certainly never will. A silly story won’t change that.


	13. Chapter 13

“So, what did they do to you in there?”

“Nothing that I can remember,” Dean says. “But then again, my memory of what happened isn’t exactly reliable.”

“They didn’t take me in to be operated on,” Cas offers.

“Thank god for small favors, eh?” Benny says, approaching the couch and holding out two beers.

“I’m… under the drinking age,” Cas says.

“If you’re old enough to have sex, you’re old enough to have a goddamn drink, in my book,” Benny says. “And in my apartment, my book’s the only book that matters.”

“Ha. If only that were true,” Cas says, but he accepts the beer without further protest.

Dean takes the other beer from Benny and twists the cap off.

“Why’d they let you go, though, if they didn’t change you?” Andrea asks. “It’s not like them, detaining a paired couple and then releasing them again so soon without even trying something new on them.”

“I don’t know,” Dean says, shrugging his shoulders. He takes a long drink from the bottle.

“Well, we did what they wanted us to,” Cas says, and maybe the kid thinks he’s masking his feelings well, but Dean picks up on the bitterness in his voice.

Fuck, it doesn’t matter how Cas tries to spin it—the straight-up facts are that Dean took advantage of a kid, and he  _liked_  it, liked it enough to do it again right after. God, Dean is fucked up.

“I guess that’s as good a reason as any for them to let you out, given the reason they detained you in the first place,” Andrea allows.

“Yeah, that’s the way things generally go in here,” Benny says. “You do what they say, follow the rules, and they’ll go easier on you. Defy them, and you face the consequences.”

“How long have the pair of you been here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Cas says.

“Oh god,” Andrea says, frowning.

“Seven years,” Benny responds. “I was sixteen, first in my family to be tested. Immediately got carted off to here, ‘cause Andrea’s information had been in the system for a couple years already.”

Cas’s eyes light up at that, and he asks Andrea, “Did you have a job? What did you do before you came here?”

Dean’s chest aches for Cas, because god, that eagerness—Cas must’ve had big dreams about his future, must’ve thought he was going places. And now he’s stuck here, hitched to Dean, expected to be a fucking breeder, broodmare to Dean’s stud.

It isn’t Dean’s fault—he knows that, logically. But it’s still hard to convince himself that it’s the truth.

“Oh, it wasn’t all that interesting,” Andrea says, waving a hand dismissively. “I worked at a consulting firm. Was working with some pretty big clients, but then I got pulled in here ‘cause they found a match for me, and that was that.”

“Aren’t you angry?” Cas asks.

“I was, at first,” Andrea says. “But really, my main objective in working was to help support my parents, and the yearly stipend the government pays to my family is—well, it’s enough, given that they’re also technically paying for all of my living expenses here. I’m comfortable, and I have this big lug, and that’s basically all I need.”

“Eh, honey bear,” Benny breaks in, and Dean looks over at the other alpha, sees him with his neck arched to look out the window. “They’re opening the gates out there.”

Dean twists around in his seat to follow Benny’s gaze, and oh—he hadn’t ever noticed that Benny and Andrea’s place had a view of the entrance to the compound. In Dean’s peripheral vision, he sees Cas twisting, then getting up onto his knees, bracing his hands on the back of the couch to look outside.

“Looks like they’re bringing in someone new,” Andrea comments.

A pickup pulls up outside the gates, and two women, a redhead and a brunette, step out. They’re in uniform—the uniform that people of the compounds are supposed to wear whenever they leave—which means that this can’t be the first compound they’ve been in.

“But they’re in uniform,” Benny observes aloud, having obviously come to the same conclusion that Dean did.

“Right,” Andrea says, frowning. “We don’t often get transfers.”

“Yes, I think people usually try to stay as close to home as possible,” Benny says. “Bigger chance of visitation if the government doesn’t have to pay for airfare.”

“Wonder which one’s the alpha,” Dean mutters.

“I’ll wager it’s the redhead,” Benny says. When Dean shoots him an inquisitive look, he explains, “It’s the way she walks. There’s a swing to her step.”

“What, does it look more  _dominant_  to you?” Andrea scoffs.

Before Benny can reply, Cas speaks up—“No, the redhead is the omega.”

“How do you figure?” Benny asks, turning a skeptical gaze on Cas.

“I don’t… know,” Cas answers absentmindedly.

Dean doesn’t like it.

Cas has looked weirdly distracted ever since Dean told him about that stupid, _stupid_  story. God, he knew it was a bad idea to tell him,  _knew_  that the suggestion would sink in slowly and start messing with Cas’s head. The damn thing is so well-framed by history that at least half the world’s population might genuinely believe it, on some level.

Even Dean used to believe it, used to fear it.

But the reminder that alphas and omegas can be created, that science has such firm control over human biology, has killed any part of Dean that once believed in that story.

Besides, if Cas is The Omega, then as his alpha, Dean would be  _The_  Alpha, which is fucking ridiculous.

Dean gets pulled out of his thoughts by a gentle touch on his shoulder. “Dean,” Cas is saying, and Dean blinks twice, sees the concern on his mate’s face.

“I’m fine. Just zoned out,” he says.

“Benny and Andrea would like to know if we’ll join them in dining in the common area today, to find out more about the new arrivals,” Cas says.

Dean shrugs. “Only if you want to.”

“Oh, come along,” Andrea urges. “No one’s really even met the two of you yet, and a lot of people are dying to.”

“Because I’m ‘The Omega,’” Cas says dryly.

Benny laughs. “If you say so, Cas.”

“Come on, Cas,” Andrea says. “Dean hasn’t wanted to go anywhere in the time that he’s been in the compound. Maybe what he needs is a little tug from the right person.”

Cas regards Dean, eyes calculating, and it’s a little worrisome that Dean can’t really get a read on what he’s feeling right now, whether or not he’s being sincere.

“We can go,” Cas decides.

Andrea says she needs to get something from her room, and Benny goes to do something or other—Dean isn’t paying attention anymore. He can’t shake the feeling that Cas is— _off_ , all of a sudden.

It can’t have been the prophecy. It’s an old wives’ tale, a stupid story to scare little kids with.

Then Benny and Andrea are ready to go, and Cas is tugging Dean away from the couch, following the other couple out the door. Dean holds back a sigh and slings an arm around Cas as they walk, as though pulling him in close might hold the bad thoughts at bay.

And to an extent, it does—Dean inhales deeply, lets Cas’s scent keep him in the present moment, away from thinking too hard.

That little worry settles down into the back of his mind, and for the time being, Dean lets it be.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plan was to have this up last night, like almost exactly 12 hours ago, but I usually write these things in the tumblr textbox (idk there's just something spontaneous about how it feels to write in one of those) and then Chrome froze up, and I lost the entire thing. Afterwards, I got pissed off and rewrote the thing in a fit of rage and posted it to tumblr. I've since tried to fix it a little, but it still feels like it doesn't flow as well as it originally did :(

Dinner turns out to be surprisingly uneventful. When Castiel and Dean follow Benny and Andrea into the cafeteria, people stop and look in their direction, as though they can tell just by scent that Dean and Castiel are new here. But no one approaches, and the four of them collect their food and find a table to sit down.

During the meal, a number of people come to meet them, enough that Castiel gives up trying to remember all their names.

They find out very little about the new arrivals, though it turns out that Castiel was right about the redhead being an omega. No one even seems to know the women’s names.

After dinner, Castiel and Dean join the stream of people leaving the cafeteria. The crowd splits once outside, heading in the directions of the three residences, and Castiel finds himself shrinking in, keeping close to Dean.

It’s those borrowed instincts in him, urging him to seek protection from a strong alpha,  _his_  alpha, and he feels disgusted with himself even as he reaches for Dean’s hand. He’s reassured just by Dean’s touch, and it makes him helplessly angry that his emotions are so dependent on Dean.

Before they can reach the building, though, Castiel hears his name over a set of loudspeakers he hadn’t even noticed before, set high up on the corners of the surrounding buildings.

_Castiel Milton. Castiel Milton. Please report to the main structure for a follow-up examination._

“Fuck,” Dean mutters.

“It's only been  _one day_ , Dean” Castiel complains, stopping where he is. The crowd parts around them, still heading toward the residence, and Castiel hates the speculative way they look at him as they pass by.

“I’ll go with you,” Dean says, squeezing Castiel’s hand, and Castiel nods, relieved.

They turn and go against the flow of people, until they reach the end. Then they cross the courtyard, back to the building they just left—the main structure apparently houses the cafeteria, in addition to examination rooms and holding cells for uncooperative couples.

The world must have truly been in a horrible state, for places like this to become acceptable, commonplace, sanctioned by the government.

When they reach the building, a guard is at the doors to meet them. He is shorter than both Dean and Castiel, with a slightly receding hairline. It’s strange—all of the guards Castiel has seen thus far have been in their twenties or early thirties, but this man seems considerably older.

“Dean,” he says, sounding surprised. “We won’t be needing you.”

“I’m his mate,” Dean says, needlessly.

“Yes, I know,” the guard says slowly. “But we need Castiel, alone.”

Dean starts to protest, but Castiel says quickly, “It’s okay, Dean. I can go.”

It’s not as though they could do more to him than they already have. Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand briefly before letting go, but before he can follow the guard inside, Dean grabs onto his shoulder and spins him around, pressing their foreheads together.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” the guard says impatiently.

Dean ignores him and says to Castiel, “I’ll wait here for you.”

“No, don’t,” Castiel says. “You should go back. Who knows how long they’ll keep me? Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

“It won’t be long,” the guard says. “Half an hour, at the longest. It’s not as though you’ll never see each other again.”

Dean lifts his head away from Castiel’s, upper lip curling back in a snarl, but Castiel puts a hand on his cheek, pulls his attention away from the guard and back to himself.

“It’ll be all right,” he says, as much to convince Dean as himself. “Please, Dean, don’t worry.”

He leans up to press a soft kiss to Dean’s lips before turning around and following the guard into the building. He glances over his shoulder as they go down the hall and sees Dean lingering just beyond the glass doors, still watching him with concerned eyes.

Castiel follows the guard up a flight of stairs and through a couple of turns to a nondescript door, which the guard unlocks and pushes open.

“After you,” he says, gesturing toward the entrance with a flourish.

Castiel steps through the doorway hesitantly and stops just inside the room, startled—sitting at a table, hands folded on the polished tabletop, is the redhead woman that Castiel saw entering the compound just over an hour ago.

Now that he’s close enough, he takes a breath, and it confirms what he’d already known—that she’s an omega. But how had he known that? It had been some... some sort of  _instinct_. Inexplicable.

She is still dressed in the uniform that she’d arrived in, the numbers “0812” printed on the upper left, crisp and black. Castiel has seen numerous people in these uniforms, but no one wears it like this omega does—dignified. Regal.

Her eyes are alight with interest as she looks Castiel up and down, and he immediately lowers his eyes, gaze landing on her blood-red lips.

The door clangs shut behind him then, and he jumps, startled.

“Sorry,” the guard says as he edges around him, but he doesn’t sound apologetic in the least. “So, this is him, the one they’ve all been talking about,” he adds, words obviously addressed to the woman and not to Castiel. “Is he the one?”

The redhead only fixes the guard with a disapproving look.

“Oh, right. How could I have forgotten my manners?” the guard says, and Castiel can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Hello, Abaddon. How—”

“Josie, actually,” the woman interrupts.

“The recording devices in this room are turned off. What do you think my job  _is_ , anyway?”

“I think that necessity is the only thing keeping you alive. The moment you cease to be of use—”

“You’ll wring my fat neck. Yes, yes, we’ve heard this all before,” the guard says, going to sit at the table with—Abaddon, Castiel guesses, since Josie seems to be a pseudonym. “Sit down,” the guard says to Castiel, gesturing to the third empty seat at the table, but Castiel doesn’t move.

“What is your name, child?” the redhead asks.

Castiel bristles. “I’m not a  _child_ ,” he says.

“My apologies. Still, what is your name?”

“Castiel Milton,” the guard says, and the omega shoots him a venomous look.

“Please, Castiel, have a seat. Talk to me. We have a while.”

“But not too long. There are still things to be set in motion. We’re on a schedule,” the guard says.

“Keep your mouth shut, or I will shut it for you, Crowley,” the omega says with a tight-lipped smile. Turning toward Castiel, she asks, “Would you like to leave this place?”

Castiel blinks quickly, caught off guard by the question. “I... do not like it here.”

“So you would like to leave,” Abaddon says.

Is this a test? This must be a test. Naomi released Dean and Castiel to return to their quarters unfettered yesterday. Perhaps she thinks after having that small taste of freedom, they’ll be unable to resist the temptation of escape, if a route of escape is offered.

“Can we speed up this process a little?”

“ _Crowley_ ,” Abaddon reprimands. Then she says, “Castiel, I know you want to leave. I’ve read the reports. I know what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Castiel says. “My mate was the one who was almost executed for his actions.”

“They were his actions, perhaps, but he acted because of you,” Abaddon points out. “You want to leave this place. I know you do.”

Nothing makes sense.

In what compound could a resident—prisoner, really—get a hold of reports? If Abaddon read the reports, then she must have known Castiel’s name already, so why bother asking him for it? And since when do guards and residents partner up? Abaddon and Crowley seem to know each other very well, even if they don’t get along well.

How did Abaddon manage to swing a transfer to this facility, and so quickly? If their words are to be believed, Abaddon heard rumors of what people were saying about Castiel and subsequently chose to come here.

“You must have questions,” Abaddon says. “You are free to ask them. I can practically see your mind racing. You always were a quick one.”

Castiel latches onto the last statement and says, “You don’t know me.”

“Oh, but I do,” Abaddon replies enigmatically.

“Who  _are_  you?” Castiel asks, frustrated.

“I think you know,” Abaddon says with a small smile.

“No, I really don’t,” Castiel answers.

“Hmm. No matter,” Abaddon says. “I suppose you  _have_  been lost for a very long time. It makes sense. But you do want to leave here, do you not? Your  _mate_  here—Dean Winchester—isn’t even your mate.”

Castiel takes a step back at that, hackles rising, and Abaddon stops, apparently sensing her misstep.

“I’d like to leave, now. I don’t want to speak with you anymore,” Castiel says, backing up into the door. He tries the door handle, but of course, the door is locked.

Crowley sighs, but he’s smiling too. “I love it when I’m right. You really should have left the first crack at him to me—subtlety is an art that you have yet to master.”

Abaddon actually bares her teeth in response to that statement, but Castiel is immediately distracted by the guard, who is on his feet now, coming toward Castiel with a set of cuffs in one hand.

“I’m sorry, Castiel,” the guard says, pulling out a syringe with his other hand. “I really didn’t want to have to do it this way, but we really don’t have any other choice now, do we?”

“What are you— _no_ ,” Castiel protests, backed up against the door and ready to fight back.

Is he—is he seriously about to be  _kidnapped_  from a  _compound?_  How is that even a thing that happens?

“Crowley, stop that,” Abaddon says authoritatively, a hand coming down hard on the table as she gets to her feet, and Castiel is immensely grateful when Crowley comes to a stop a few feet away. “Castiel, we only want to take you to a safe place,” Abaddon says. “If you cooperate with us, then there is absolutely no need for cuffs or sedatives.”

Sedatives. Castiel hates sedatives.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Someplace safe,” Abaddon says.

“Do I have a choice in the matter?” he says.

“We’d rather not have to drug you,” Abaddon answers.

“Well—I’m not going anywhere without Dean,” Castiel says.

“Ah.  _Dean_ ,” Abaddon says, not even bothering to hide the disdain from her voice, or her scent.

“Sorry, kid. Dean won’t be coming with us,” Crowley says.

“There  _is_  no  _us_ ,” Castiel snarls.

“If we agreed to bring Dean along, would you come willingly?” Abaddon asks, and Castiel watches her with interest.

“You can’t seriously be considering it,” Crowley says incredulously. “The master is going to be furious if Dean shows up.”

“He’ll be even angrier if—” Abaddon pauses here, eyes flicking to Castiel, before picking back up on her thought, “—if Castiel doesn’t show up.”

“Well, either way we’re taking him,” Crowley says to Abaddon, and Castiel feels a full-body shudder at the certainty in the guard’s words. “One way there’s no Dean, and the other way there is. One way is obviously better than the other.”

“The master doesn’t want him drugged if we can help it,” Abaddon argues.

“Oh, good god. You’re going to get us killed,” Crowley grumbles.

“No one told you to sign up for this,” Abaddon says. “Now, Castiel—”

“What is  _happening?_ ” Castiel explodes. “Who is your master, and why will he be angry if Dean shows up? What does he want with me in the first place? Is Dean going to be in danger if I go with you?”

“You’ll be safe. Both of you,” Abaddon says.

“That doesn’t answer anything,” Castiel says. “And you haven’t even answered my first question: who are you?”

“My name is Abaddon.”

“Yes, I’d gathered that much, thanks,” Castiel says, irate.

“I’m here to take you to a safe place. That is all you need know, for now.”

Castiel exhales noisily and asks again, “Do I have any choice in the matter?”

“You can choose between two options,” Abaddon says. “Either you come with us willingly and we bring Dean along, or you get sedated and come with us alone.”

“Dean, then,” Castiel says without hesitation. He won’t go anywhere without his mate—this much he knows.

“Brilliant,” Abaddon says, even though her expression, tone of voice, and scent all suggest that she thinks this is the exact opposite of brilliant. “Crowley, go do what you do best. We’ll be here.”

“Y’know, what I do best will be greatly hampered by me having to go downstairs and collect Dean Winchester,” Crowley gripes. “It’ll be suspicious, seeing me turn down his request to come with, only to show up a couple minutes later and bring him into the building.”

“Do you really think the security guards will be paying close enough attention to notice that?” Abaddon says. “You used the loudspeakers in the courtyard, and I doubt anyone even noticed anything amiss.”

“Well, sure. I turned off all the connections to announcements within the building,” Crowley says. “But that was different. As a member of the security detail in this compound, I know for a fact that we do actually pay close attention to what’s going on on the monitors.”

“Just go, Crowley. You’re the one who keeps saying that we’re on a schedule,” Abaddon urges.

“Yes, all right. I’ll make it work, like I always do,” Crowley says, long-suffering. He nudges Castiel away from the door and reaches for the door handle, but he pauses and turns back toward Abaddon and Castiel before he can press down on it. “If anyone comes in here before I get back... well. The camera feed to this room is already on a loop, as is the feed to the stretch of hallway just outside. You know what to do.”

Abaddon nods, and Crowley ducks out of the room, the door swinging closed behind him.

Castiel only lasts about five seconds before his curiosity gets the better of him. “What do we do if someone comes in the door?” he asks.

“If anyone comes inside, you only need to sit tight and look surprised,” Abaddon says, gesturing to the seat she just vacated as she heads over to take up a position next to the door. “The guard will come farther into the room to ask you what you’re doing, and I will snap his neck.”

Castiel wishes he could convince himself that Abaddon was joking, but judging from the severe expression on her face, she’s dead serious.

And he’d thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is sort of careening out of my control... whoops.

Dean hasn’t been waiting for long when the guard who took Cas away shows up again, walking swiftly. He has a walkie-talkie held up to his mouth and seems to be speaking into it rapidly.

“Hello, Dean,” he says as he pushes the door to the building open. “Follow me.”

“Uh—”

“If you want to see Castiel, you will follow me,” the man says.

Dean considers disobeying, but the guard is already turning away to go back into the building, and even if this is a trap, Dean really doesn’t have any other choice. He has nothing without Cas,  _is_  nothing without Cas.

So he follows the guard into the building and down a long hallway.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Just keep your trap shut and follow me,” the guard snaps irritably.

They reach a large set of double doors, and the guard presses his ID to the access pad. The doors slide open, and the guard snatches Dean’s arm, shoving him through the exit first.

“Where’s Cas?” Dean demands.

“Get in the back of that car and wait for me,” the man says.

Before Dean even has time to open his mouth, the guard disappears back into the building.

Dean looks around himself and sees that he’s in a garage of sorts, with a ton of transport vehicles inside. The car that the guard had pointed to has the numbers of a different compound painted on the side—it was probably the car that brought the omega redhead and her alpha mate earlier today.

There’s a clicking sound from the opposite end of the large room, by one of the metal doors—is someone coming inside? It’s obvious that this isn’t a place where compound residents are supposed to be, so Dean yanks open the back door of the car and crawls inside.

Goddamn it, where did that guard take Cas?

The metal door closest to Dean lifts up with a groan, and three figures come jogging in, backlit by the lights from the courtyard outside—all Dean can see is that two of them have long hair. They come straight at the van that Dean’s sitting in, and he prepares to knock them out.

But then they get close enough for Dean to make out their faces, and those are definitely Charlie and Tessa, and the brunette who was brought into the compound before dinner.

Charlie throws open the front door and hops up into the driver’s seat, tossing something onto the passenger seat. She looks back over her shoulder and grins widely when she sees Dean. “Hey, man.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Dean demands as the door on his other side opens up. Tessa gets in and crawls into the back row, and the brunette takes the seat next to Dean.

“We’re apparently escaping,” Tessa says. She smells—horrible. Terrified, angry, confused.

“Don’t start your whining now,” Charlie says as she starts the car. “You chose to come along.”

“You’re my  _mate_ ,” Tessa says. “I didn’t have a choice.” She makes a distressed sound as she finishes speaking, and Dean twists in his seat even as Charlie stomps on the gas, making the car lurch forward.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Dean says.

The brunette next to him crawls into the backseat, taking Tessa’s hand in hers. “Yes—we’re in good hands,” she says.

“Who are you?” Dean asks her.

But a crackling sound comes from the front seat, distracting Dean, and then a distorted male voice says, “Where the fuck  _are_  you?”

Up front, Charlie groans and reaches into the passenger seat, grabbing what she’d tossed there before—a walkie-talkie, apparently. “Coming. Jesus Christ, have a little patience, would you? First timer, here.”

They get out of the garage, and Charlie turns the car sharply to the left, following side of the building. She turns again and stops the car abruptly.

“In position,” she says into the walkie-talkie. Twisting to look at Dean, she says, “Open the right side door. Hurry.” As Dean goes to do so, Charlie lifts the walkie-talkie again and says, “You guys had better hurry. I can see the guard tower from here, so they can see me, too.”

There’s a loud bang on the roof of the car, and Dean jolts, startled. One of the women in the back seat kicks the back of his chair, but he doesn’t blame them. A woman lands by the open door, and Dean recognizes her as the redhead who arrived earlier today. Did she just—jump onto the roof of the car?

“Jump!” she shouts, looking annoyed.

A light starts flashing from the guard tower nearest them, and then a siren sounds, long and loud. God, how the hell are they supposed to get out of here if they’ve already been noticed?

“I can’t!”

Fuck. That’s Cas.

Dean lunges for the opening, nearly bowling the redhead over in his haste to get out of the car, heedless of Charlie’s shouts for him to stay where he is.

“Get back inside,” the redhead says, glaring at him, but Dean only has eyes for the window on the second floor, where Cas is.

“Dean!” Cas shouts.

“Yes,  _Dean!_ ” the redhead shouts back. “We’ve got your Dean, so get your fucking ass down here!”

“He could break his leg!” Dean protests furiously, but Cas is already jumping, which is  _so_  not okay.

The redhead shoves at Dean with more force than he’d expected, pushing him back into the car. He starts to get back out, but then Cas is getting shoved inside, and Dean immediately pulls him into his arms, scenting him worriedly.

“Shit, Cas, you okay?” he says as the redhead climbs into the car, getting in the back with Tessa and the brunette alpha.

“I’m okay, Dean,” Cas says, but he smells alarmed, worried, angry—not unlike what Tessa is giving off from the back seat.

There’s one last thud on the roof of the car, and then the guard from before is getting in up front.

“ _Drive_ ,” he says before he’s even closed the door, and Charlie stomps on the gas.

“Um,” Charlie says as she steers them toward the South Gate, “I hope you guys planned ahead of time for this, because those gates are reinforced steel. This car is  _definitely_  not strong enough to break through them.”

“Does no one ever remember what my occupation is?” the guard says from up front. The gates start swinging open, and Dean figures he must have a remote control of some sort.

The driver’s side window shatters up front, and Charlie screams, putting more weight on the gas pedal and making the car surge forward.

“Abaddon!” the guard is shouting, and Dean can’t tell if that’s a name or a place or a battle cry, but the next thing he knows, he hears unmistakable sound of a machine gun, deafening in such close quarters.

The redhead in the back is returning fire at the guard tower, and Dean sees a guy actually fall from the top of the tower, landing on the ground with what he’s sure would be a sickening splat, except he can’t hear anything over the gunfire.

The gates start closing again, and the guard up front curses, but Charlie puts on another burst of speed, and they shoot through the narrowing gap before it can close.

“Whoo! Who’s your daddy!” Charlie whoops, speeding down the paved road, trees flying by rapidly.

“You’re gonna want to take us off the main road,” the guard grouses, one hand on the dash, the other hanging on to the handle on the roof of the car.

“Yeah, yeah. Killjoy,” Charlie says, slowing the car down slightly and turning off, driving straight into the trees.

“Map,” the redhead from the backseat is saying.

“Yes, I’ve got it,” the guard says irritably.

Dean just can’t believe they’re actually  _outside the compound_. Really, he hasn’t been there for that long, but it feels like it’s already been a lifetime.

“Oh god, this was a horrible idea,” Tessa says from the backseat. “They’re gonna catch us, and god knows what they’re gonna do to us when they do.”

“They’re not going to catch us,” the redhead says.

“Even if they don’t catch us, they’ll punish our family members for this,” Tessa says, and shitfuck, Dean hadn’t even thought about that.

“We know what we’re doing,” the redhead snaps at Tessa. “So shut up.”

“No, Tessa’s got a point,” Dean says. “If we don’t get caught and brought back there, they’re gonna take it out on our families.”

“If we do nothing, none of us will ever be free,” the redhead says. “If a few families suffer for us to succeed, so be it.” Dean opens his mouth to protest, and the redhead continues, “You’re only here because Castiel requested it. We could just as easily have sedated him and left you behind. So keep your mouth shut, or I  _will_ shoot you.”

“You’ll have to shoot me first, Abaddon,” Cas says fiercely, and Dean feels some unnamable emotion well up inside him.

Then the car comes to a stop, and Dean frowns—they can’t have gotten far enough for it to be safe to stop. Looking outside, he sees that they’re in a clearing, two tents set up in the middle. Five trucks are there, all facing away from the clearing in different directions.

“C’mon, guys. We’re ditching the escape pod!” Charlie says, hopping out of the driver’s seat and jogging over to the tents.

Three men come out of one tent, and two women emerge from the other.

The men look middle-aged, maybe a little on the older side. One is tall and thin, gaunt, and while the other two aren’t necessarily bodybuilders, they definitely look more substantial, stockier, than their companion. One of the shorter men sports a pretty thick beard, graying. He is the one Charlie goes up to—presumably, he’s the one in charge.

The two women look relatively young, the fair-haired one taller than the dark-haired one. They’re standing in exactly the same pose as they look at the car, though—arms folded across their chests, hips cocked, and Dean almost laughs.

The guard has already gotten out of the car, and the women in the backseat move to get out, too. The redhead is the first one out, and she holds the door open expectantly. Instead, Dean opens up the door on his side of the car, and Cas follows him out.

“Do you know any of these people?” Dean asks.

“No,” Cas says, staying close to Dean’s side. “But the woman—Abaddon—she said that she thought I knew her. I think they might be a group of fanatics,” he adds quietly, looking up at Dean with concerned eyes. “I don’t know whether we’re better off here or back at the compound.”

“It’s okay,” Dean says. “As long as we’re together, it’s gonna be okay.”

Then the group of people starts coming toward the car, and Dean clenches his jaw, shifts to stand a little bit in front of Cas, even though he knows that Abaddon’s armed, that these people probably are, too.

“Castiel,” the bearded man says, stopping several yards away. His voice is a little choked up, eyes sad.

“The hell do you want?” Dean demands.

The bearded man shifts his gaze away from Cas, and it seems as though he’s noticing Dean for the first time. He visibly grinds his teeth together, and Dean feels his skin prickle in anticipation of a fight.

But the man only says, “We need to move. Abaddon, with me. Bring your alpha. Charlie and mate, ride with Azazel. Crowley, with Ruby. Castiel…” he falters even as people start to split up between the five trucks.

“I can take them,” the dark-haired woman offers, something sympathetic in her tone.

The bearded man nods decisively. “All right, Meg. Alastair, you’re on your own.”

“Follow me,” the dark-haired woman—Meg—says after the bearded man has gone back toward one of the cars.

Dean hesitates, and Cas takes his elbow. “Should we run?” Cas asks, jerking his head toward the van—the key is still in the ignition.

“We need to hurry,” Meg urges, coming toward them. “The guards from the compound are gonna find this place—their cars all have tracking devices on them.”

“Shit, guess not,” Dean says to Cas. “C’mon.”

He heads toward Meg, and she sighs with relief, spinning around to lead them to the only truck that hasn’t been occupied yet. The others all have their engines running, presumably waiting so that they can all leave at once.

“Get in the back,” Meg says when they reach the car, and Dean opens the door for Cas to get in first before climbing in himself.

They’ve scarcely buckled themselves in when the car starts moving.

“Where are we going?” Dean asks.

“Home,” Meg says. “You guys got out faster than we were expecting. The master’s gonna be pissed that we had to leave all that equipment behind.”

“Apparently there was a change of plans,” Cas says.

“Yeah, apparently. Why the fuck did Abaddon and Charlie bring their mates?”

Dean notes that she doesn’t ask why Cas brought his mate. But given what Abaddon said about Dean being brought along just for Cas, Dean mustn’t have been in the plans either.

“I don’t know, maybe because they’re their mates?” Dean says when Cas doesn’t say anything.

In the rearview mirror, Dean sees Meg rolling her eyes. “All that synthetic crap in the compounds, it’s not  _real_ ,” she says.

“I beg to differ,” Cas says. “I was put through an induced heat, and let me assure you that it was  _very_  real.”

“But you already have a mate,” Meg says.

Cas stiffens up, and Dean says, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Are you gonna tell him, or should I?” Meg says from up front.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Cas says to Dean, gripping his hand tight. “They just kept saying that you—that you’re not—not my mate.”

“Like hell I’m not,” Dean says, angry. “Who do you think  _is_  his mate, if not me? That old guy who was calling all the shots out there?”

Meg shakes her head. “Cuh—Castiel, you must have recognized him,” she says, stuttering over Cas’s name at first.

“Um. No?” Cas says apprehensively.

Dean puts an arm around his mate— _his_  mate and no one else’s.

“Dude,” he says suddenly, remembering that Charlie had been the one to bring up the rumor that Cas was The Omega, and Jesus fucking Christ, what if  _that’s_  what all this is about? Cas did say that these people could be fanatics. “If this is about Cas being The Omega… you guys have gotta know it’s a myth.”

Meg actually laughs, but her scent is bitter, and her eyes are unhappy. “We’ve been looking for The Omega for longer than I’ve been alive,” she says. “We couldn’t do anything else until we found—found him. It was all he could care about.”

“All  _who_  could care about, ‘the master’?” Dean says snidely, throwing up air quotes as he uses the title.

“Not just the master,” Meg says. “He’s The Alpha.”


	16. Chapter 16

“What the hell do you mean, he’s The Alpha?” Dean says. “Even if The Alpha was real, he must have died centuries ago.”

“It’s not my place to talk about his past,” Meg says. “Just hang tight. You’ll have your answers soon enough.”

Castiel doesn’t like the sound of that. “I don’t think any of you are listening. Dean is my mate. I am not the omega that you’re looking for. I wasn’t even born an omega—I’m a beta!”

“It doesn’t matter that you were born into a beta’s body. Abaddon knew you, and the master knew you. That’s more than enough confirmation for me.”

Sensing that they won’t get any more answers from Meg, Castiel leans into Dean, nosing at his neck to get more of his scent. Dean tilts his chin up slightly, obligingly, and Castiel is unspeakably grateful for his presence.

* * *

Castiel doesn’t remember falling asleep. They’re already indoors when he wakes, the truck having just rolled to a stop, and Castiel slowly sits up straight, his limbs aching and stiff from falling asleep in an unnatural position.

Beside him, Dean jerks awake, looking back and forth wildly until his gaze lands on Castiel and settles.

Castiel sees the bearded man from before standing outside the truck, talking to Meg. He can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but Meg’s voice is raised, angry. The bearded man—the master, Castiel guesses—interrupts her with a short response before turning and walking away.

Castiel watches him go, curious despite himself. He meets Abaddon, and they disappear through a door at the end of the room.

“Cas… I think we’re  _underground_ ,” Dean says.

“What?” Castiel responds instinctively. He glances over at his mate and finds him looking out the opposite window, and—oh.

Castiel had assumed that they were indoors because of the artificial lighting and the concrete walls and ceiling, but Dean appears to be right. The room they’re in, if it can even be called a “room,” expands out in Dean’s direction, the concrete breaking off into earth—rocks and dirt, packed solid.

Out the back window, Castiel sees a number of steel doors, all closed.

The car door opens, and Meg says, “I’ve got work to be doing. Charlie’s gonna take you and the other new kids around the block.”

“What do you—” Castiel starts, but Meg has already walked away from the car, and Castiel stares after her, lost.

Dean sighs. “C’mon. Might as well see what they’ve got in store for us.”

Reluctantly, Castiel gets out of the car.

“Oh, quit looking like such a lost puppy,” Charlie says, appearing by the front of the car with a dark-haired omega in tow, probably her mate. Tessa, Castiel recalls. “You’re gonna love this place,” Charlie adds.

“That remains to be seen,” Castiel mutters to himself, waiting until Dean gets out before starting to follow Charlie toward the exit.

“Hey, Dean,” the dark-haired omega says, subdued.

“Hey, Tessa. You got any idea what’s going on?”

“I… god, I don’t even know,” Tessa answers. “I just want to lay down. This has been—way too much, for one day.”

“Oh wait,” Charlie says, stopping abruptly at the exit, “I’m short a noob. Hold on a sec.” She skirts past Castiel, Tessa, and Dean and jogs out past the other trucks parked in this—garage, of sorts.

Castiel counts eight vehicles in total, four parked against the far wall—the wall of dirt—and the other four closer to the “human” exit. “Weren’t there five cars when we split up?” Castiel asks Dean.

“Hmm. Yeah,” Dean says. “Maybe one of ‘em didn’t make it.”

Charlie reappears with the brunette alpha and says, “She fell asleep in the backseat, and Abaddon didn’t have the heart to wake her. Imagine that.” Then, proving that she heard every word they just said, Charlie says, “Ruby and Crowley are still on the run. Guess the guards from the compound picked their trail to follow. Meg and Alastair are heading out to run interference, but we’ll see how it turns out.”

“Sorry for holding things up,” the brunette alpha says as Charlie slips past everyone again and unlocks the door.

“Hey, no problem. We’re not exactly in a hurry to see what’s on the other side of that door,” Dean says.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Charlie says, stepping through the doorway.

Tessa is the first to follow, and Castiel walks through after her. He finds himself in a wide stone hallway, torches hanging in brackets on the walls. Charlie leads them past several hallways that split from this one, and Castiel glances down each one of them, finds that they’re all constructed just like this one.

Some of them are blocked off with metal gates, locked, and Castiel wonders where those lead.

“This looks so  _medieval_ ,” the brunette alpha comments.

“I know, right?” Charlie says from up front, brimming with enthusiasm. “But don’t worry. All our technology is totally up-to-date. This all looks the way it does because our master is a bit of a sentimentalist. All about the good ol’ days…”

Charlie leads them through a few more turns before saying that they’ve reached the living quarters for the “gen-pop,” which Dean explains in an undertone is short for general population. Castiel can’t see how it looks any different from the other areas they’ve walked through, though.

Pausing at a fork where the hallway splits into three—right, left, and straight forward, Charlie pulls out a key and gives it to Tessa. “Our room’s got my name over the door. And uh—excuse the mess.”

Tessa rolls her eyes. “As though I don’t know what you’re capable of.”

Charlie flashes a wide smile and winks, tugging her mate in for a quick kiss before giving her a gentle nudge down the right hallway.

Turning to the brunette alpha, Charlie frowns for a second before saying, “I uh, don’t think I’ve ever actually been to Abaddon’s quarters, so Bela, you’re gonna have to wait ‘til she’s done with whatever the master’s got for her.”

“She could wait with us,” Dean offers, and Castiel wonders why Dean would suggest that.

“Mm, I guess there’s no harm in that,” she says, starting down the hallway straight ahead. “There are a couple spare rooms toward the end of this hall. You guys can go ahead and pick whichever one you like. We’ll get a lock made for you, but until then, you won’t really have much privacy.” Wincing, she adds, “Sorry ‘bout that, by the way. We weren’t really expecting you, Dean.”

“Yeah, I’ve been getting that a lot,” Dean says dryly, and Castiel takes his hand.

Charlie frowns a little but doesn’t comment, stopping partway to the end of the hall and gesturing toward the open doors. “Take your pick.”

Castiel looks into a few of the rooms, but they all seem identical to him—while the hallway looks like the interior of an underground dungeon straight out of the movies, each of the rooms is spacious, adequately furnished with a large bed, a desk with one or two chairs, a dresser, and a nightstand. Each room also has a side door, presumably leading into a closet.

He steps inside the closest room, and Dean follows him.

The brunette alpha, Bela, lingers in the doorway, and Dean says, “It’s okay. C’mon in.”

So she follows them into the room, looking around.

Charlie leans against the doorjamb, eyes bright. “Gosh, I can’t believe you’re really here.  _Finally_.”

The words are obviously directed toward Castiel, but he averts his eyes.

Undeterred, Charlie continues, “I mean, you wouldn’t  _believe_  how many false alarms we’ve had. And I’ve only been in the system for a couple years. God knows how many Abaddon’s been through.”

Castiel bites his lip, uncomfortable.

“Can you leave?” Dean says bluntly, anger seeping out into the air and making Castiel agitated. “It’s been kind of a long day, and I don’t think Cas needs even more of your bullshit right now.”

Charlie glares at him. “Dude, calm your tits. We’ve been on the job for a long fucking time, and I’m allowed to be excited that we can finally move on, okay?”

“Yeah well, go be excited somewhere else,” Dean snaps.

“Stop,” Castiel says, sitting down on the bed and hanging his head, letting his eyes fall shut. “Please.”

Charlie lets out a long sigh and says, “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you guys around. Bela, I’ll tell Abaddon you’re here.”

“Thanks.”

The door swings closed, signaling Charlie’s departure, and Castiel is relieved when Dean calms down, cools off.

“Sorry,” Dean says, hand coming down to rest on the back of Castiel’s neck. He gently rubs his thumb and fingers in circular motions, and Castiel feels himself loosen up, pliant.

He doesn’t know whether he hates his body’s reaction or is grateful for it.

“So uh, did you know Abaddon before you entered the compound?” Dean asks. Castiel doesn’t open his eyes, just lets himself continue to drift while he waits for the alpha’s response.

“No,” she says. “I mean—obviously, I knew her before we entered 0918 today, but no, I didn’t know her before entering the system.”

“How long ago was that?” Dean asks, and Bela laughs.

“I should’ve known you wanted me here to interrogate me,” she says. “No worries; I’ve got nothing to hide from you. I doubt Abaddon told me anything of real importance, anyway. The master’s got her locked down tight, I’m telling you. I’m surprised he didn’t force her to leave me behind and claim her for himself, now that she’s an omega.”

“So she was a beta before she entered the compound, like the rest of us.”

“As far as I know, yeah. I don’t think born alphas and omegas get put into the system. It’s not as though there’s an abundance of them, anyway.”

“How long have you guys been together?”

“Oh gosh. Years,” Bela says.

Curious, Castiel lifts his head. “Has Abaddon given birth, then?”

“A few times, yes,” Bela answers. “She doesn’t like to talk about it. I think she misses the children.”

Castiel doesn’t have a response for that, so he tucks his chin again, and Dean resumes his gentle massage. It is difficult for Castiel to imagine having to give up his children, but it’s also difficult to imagine having children in the first place.

“How much did you know about… about Abaddon’s uh, objective for entering the system?” Dean asks.

“Not much. We moved around a lot, but I never knew that she was somehow pulling the strings—not ‘til this time. She kept it from me until she couldn’t anymore. I guess The Alpha wanted to keep it all under wraps.”

There’s a pause, and then Dean says, “How the hell can he actually be The Alpha? The Alpha is supposed to be dead.”

“How should I know?” Bela replies. “All I know is that Abaddon is sure that the master is The Alpha. She’s never told me how or why.”

Dean falls silent.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think Abaddon is a liar,” Bela says.

Castiel looks up at Bela to assess her sincerity and finds her looking back, guileless. “I’m not worried about Abaddon being a liar,” Castiel says. “I’m just worried that what she believes is a lie.”

“So—out there, you didn’t feel  _anything_  when you saw the master?” Bela asks.

Dean’s hand stills on Castiel’s neck, and Castiel instinctively reaches out, one hand grasping the hand that rests on his neck, and the other brushing Dean’s hip.

“Nothing,” Castiel says emphatically.

But it’s—not entirely true. There’d been a spark of interest, maybe. But Castiel knows he didn’t recognize the man at all, didn’t find him familiar in any way, and that’s the truth that matters.

More importantly, Castiel’s denial makes Dean relax, if only slightly, and that is more than enough reason to ignore whatever spark might’ve been there.

Castiel tilts forward, rests his forehead against his mate’s hip, and breathes him in.

He doesn’t know what will happen in the days to come, doesn’t know whether this “master” is The Alpha or not, but none of that matters. Castiel is not some creature from myth. Some scientists may have messed with his biology, but he knows who he is, and he knows who his mate is.

Nothing anyone else says or does will change that.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fyi, Chapter 16 was actually written and posted on tumblr like a day or two ago, but I didn't get around to posting it here 'til earlier tonight. I didn't spontaneously decide to write two chapters in the same night, hah.
> 
> Also there's kind of a spin in this chapter. Don't know if it'll put you guys off, but it's been circling around in my head since I introduced that "The Omega" story so it's a relief to get it all written down finally.

Eventually, Abaddon comes in and collects Bela. She doesn’t say anything to Dean and Castiel, though, and when the women leave, Castiel looks up at Dean, weary.

“What do we do, now?”

Dean sighs. “I don’t know,” he answers, dropping onto the bed beside Castiel. “I’ve got a feeling that it’s gonna be even harder to get out of here than it was to get out of the compound.”

“We’re in agreement on that,” Castiel says. He remembers what Tessa said in the car earlier today and asks, “Dean, you don’t think they’d really punish our families, do you?”

He can’t stand the thought of his parents being punished for something entirely out of their control. And oh, Sammy. Castiel had loathed the idea of being taken in to Compound 0918, but at the very least, Sammy wouldn’t have to be subjected to that.

Now that Castiel is outside the compound, he has no doubt Sammy will be put into the system when he comes of age.

“I don’t know,” Dean says helplessly. “No one’s ever actually escaped from the compounds before. At least, not publicly.”

“If they keep this quiet, they won’t be able to punish our families—right?” Castiel asks, hopeful despite himself.

“Maybe,” Dean says. “But our brothers are gonna end up in the system, I’ll bet, to make up for us skipping out. Shit, Cas, I can’t…”

Dean’s voice fades away, but Castiel understands him, knows that he is just as worried about his brother—his Sammy—as Castiel is about his own kin.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel says.

“Hey, it’s not your fault. You didn’t even know what The Omega was ‘til I told you. This isn’t on you.”

Castiel looks down at his own lap, clasps his hands together. “It feels like it was my fault, somehow. I must have done  _something_  to make them think that it’s me.”

“Cas, they’re  _insane_ ,” Dean says. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

There’s a knock on the door then, and Castiel’s head jerks up.

“Guys, it’s me, Charlie.”

“Come on in,” Dean says, but he sounds reluctant.

The door swings open. “Yeah, hey. I’ve got two things,” Charlie says, leaning against the doorjamb. “First, sorry about earlier, Dean. I get that you’re a protective as all fucking hell when it comes to Cas. Today must’ve been pretty hard on you.”

Dean only grunts, and Castiel scoots slightly closer, so that their sides are touching.

“Actually, Castiel, I was wondering if I could talk to Dean alone. It’s nothing serious, just a little talk to smooth things over.”

“I’d rather stay here, thanks,” Dean says, and Castiel holds back his sigh of relief that Dean isn’t leaving him—he doesn’t like this place, small and foreign, and the mere thought of being parted from Dean makes him uncomfortable.

“Oh, come  _on_ , Dean, please,” Charlie says. “You’re gonna have to get along with us if you want to stay here. Crowley and Meg got back, but Crowley is absolutely livid at all the changes to plan that happened back at the compound, for Bela and Tessa and you, but you most of all, seeing as you’re—well.”

“You can go ahead and say it. It’s not as though I don’t know that you guys don’t think Cas and I are mates,” Dean says.

Charlie shakes her head. “Just come with me. Give me like, ten minutes. I even brought you guys your room keys. If you don’t trust Castiel to be left undisturbed here, he can keep the door locked.”

“You’re not gonna take no for an answer, are you?” Dean says.

“Nope,” Charlie says, holding up two keys. “One for you, one for Castiel.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. “Cas, you gonna be okay on your own for ten minutes?”

“I’m not a baby, Dean. I’ll be fine,” Castiel says, because he knows that Dean wouldn’t hesitate to take on this entire secret society on Castiel’s behalf, even if it means putting himself at risk. Castiel doesn’t want Dean to be forcibly separated from him.

“Okay,” Dean says, pressing a quick kiss to Castiel’s temple before getting to his feet. Looking at Charlie, he says. “Ten minutes. Let’s go.”

Charlie flashes a quick smile and backs out of the room. She tosses Castiel’s key at him as she does, and Castiel has to jerk forward to catch it. She smiles and winks before going out of sight. Dean shuts the door, and a moment later, Castiel hears the lock click into place.

He takes another look around the room, inventorying its meager contents. Already he wants Dean to come back.

It’ll only be ten minutes, he thinks, grateful that there is a clock hanging up on the wall opposite him.

Less than two minutes have passed when Castiel hears the lock click again, and Castiel feels relief pulse through him as he looks toward the door.

But when it swings open, the man standing in the entrance is the bearded man from before—the master, The Alpha.

Dean—they lured Dean away from here so this man could get to Castiel. Fuck. Fuck, Castiel should have known.

“Please, don’t be afraid,” the man says, voice gentle.

Castiel can’t seem to relax, every single muscle in his body tensed up, on high alert. “You had Charlie lure Dean away,” Castiel accuses.

“I had to talk to you.”

“Only talk?” Castiel says, fixing skeptical eyes on the master.

“If that is all you’ll allow, then yes. But—you must know I could never hurt you.”

“I don’t know shit about you,” Castiel spits out, hands clenched into fists against the bedspread.

Hurt seeps into the air between them, something delicate about it, familiar almost, and Castiel forces himself to ignore it.

“Abaddon said that you’d forgotten everything,” he says. “You’ve been lost to me for a very long time.”

Castiel glares at him. “If you keep speaking in riddles, we’re never going to get anywhere.”

The man looks down. “Can I come inside?” he asks.

“If I say no, will you stay outside?” Castiel replies.

“Of course.”

“Then no.”

“Very well,” the master says. “Will you at least talk to me for a while? You must have questions. I have answers.”

“Where are we?” Castiel asks.

The master looks grateful. “We’re in an underground base, built a very long time ago, when it became clear that we would not prevail and would need to go into hiding.”

“So you expect me to believe that you’re The Alpha—a fictitious man who was supposed to have died centuries ago.”

“Not fictitious, but yes,” he says. “I never liked those titles—so arrogant, as though we were the only alpha and omega pairing that mattered.”

“Don’t say ‘we.’ There is no ‘we,’” Castiel says, flinching.

“But there was,” the man says. “I am not here to try to take you from—from your perceived mate. But I will not lie to you, either. I am the one they call The Alpha, and you are the one they call The Omega, my mate returned.”

“It  _makes no sense_ ,” Castiel snaps. “This isn’t some fairytale. There’s no such thing as immortality.”

“In old times, practitioners of magic were out in the open,” The Alpha says. “We found a powerful witch who had created an elixir that would grant eternal life—the price was that there would be no afterlife; upon death the drinker would be reborn on this earth.

“Shortly after creating the elixir, though, the witch was killed. There was only enough for four people, so you and I took our portions and gave the other two to our most trusted servants. Years later, we managed to find the witch reborn, but though she remembered her past life, she didn’t retain any knowledge of her craft.”

Castiel shakes his head. “If magic were real, wouldn’t people be using it today? And—we would’ve learned about it in school.”

“Users of magic were hunted down as severely as alphas and omegas were, when the beta uprisings took place,” The Alpha says. “As for why it hasn’t been taught in schools… what better way to prevent magic from ever rising again than to convince the world that it doesn’t exist?”

Castiel huffs, annoyed that the logic appears to be sound. “Even if I were to believe all of this, how can you be so sure that I’m—who you think I am?”

“Because I know you, even if you don’t know me anymore,” The Alpha says. “I could prove it to you, if you allowed me to.”

Castiel wants to shut him down again, but he’s  _curious_. He needs to know why these people are so sure that he is The Omega, when he isn’t even a born omega.

“Come to me,” The Alpha says. “If you don’t want me to enter your room, and you would like me to prove it to you, come to me.”

It sounds like a ploy to get Castiel to go to him willingly. Castiel shouldn’t go. Yet he finds himself rising to his feet slowly, heart pounding.

He crosses the small room, stopping a few feet away from The Alpha, watching him warily. But The Alpha only closes his eyes and tilts his head slightly to the side, baring his neck, and it takes Castiel a moment to realize that this is  _real_.

Alphas don’t bare their necks to omegas.

Castiel takes a tentative step forward, scenting the air carefully, and—

He sees the man’s face decades younger, open and carefree, with none of the world-weary lines that it carries now. He hears laughter, The Alpha’s mixed with a woman’s, yet he knows, knows somehow that that is—was—his own voice.

Snatches of memory come and go, difficult to process. He remembers overwhelming happiness and fiery love, remembers intense physical pain, a stillborn child. Remembers vengeance, mission, devotion.

Castiel steps back, reeling.

“Cain,” he says, the name slipping from his mouth unbidden, and his voice sounds strange to himself, too deep, too male.

Oh god.

Was Castiel ever told his name? Did he—was all of that—real?

But when he opens his eyes—when had he closed them?—he sees that The Alpha is watching him with a stricken look on his face, a horrible mixture of anger, betrayal, jealousy, profound sadness.

Before Castiel can ask what is wrong, The Alpha—Cain—says, “You’re pregnant.”


	18. Chapter 18

Charlie leads Dean into a room two doors down from the one he now shares with Cas, and when they’re both inside, she shuts the door behind them.

“All right, you wanted to talk. So talk,” Dean says.

“Well I didn’t really have anything specific to tell you,” Charlie says, shrugging. “I just thought it’d be a good idea for us to get to know each other. I mean, you’re not gonna survive here it you try to bite off anyone’s head as soon as they so much as look at you or Castiel.”

“What, and we couldn’t get to know each other with Cas in the room?” Dean says.

“You can’t even relax when someone else is in the room with you and him, can you?” Charlie replies.

“Sure I can,” Dean says defensively—he’d been fine when he and Cas were at Benny’s, after all. “Forgive me for being a little tense, after all the shit that went down today.”

“Yeah, okay, I guess I can give you a pass for today. But you were already territorial as hell when I saw you back in the compound, and you’ve got no excuse for that.”

Dean huffs, annoyed. “All right, let’s just get this over with. What do you wanna know about me?”

Charlie shrugs. “Whatever you feel like telling.”

Dean refrains from snapping at her that he doesn’t  _feel_  like telling her anything, because this wasn’t his goddamn idea. Instead, he says, “I’m twenty years old. I was at 0918 a little over a month before you guys sprung us out today. Don’t know how long Cas was there, transitioning, but… god, it’s only been a couple days since I really met him.”

“Really?” Charlie says.

“Yeah,” Dean says, thinking back. “I don’t think it’s been a full week yet. Holy crap.”

“Just from the way you guys are with each other, it… looks like you’ve been together forever,” Charlie comments.

“Feels like it’s been longer,” Dean says, frowning. Somehow, it’s hard to remember what life felt like before he met Cas.

“So, uh… any siblings?” Charlie asks.

“I’ve got a little brother. You?”

“I was an only child,” she answers. “Was he your brother by birth too, or—”

“By birth,” Dean says. “But even if he wasn’t, I would’ve treated him like he was.”

“I’ll bet you were a great big brother,” Charlie says.

“What makes you say that?”

“Mostly the way you treat Castiel, I guess. I think it’s in your nature to nurture people,” she says with a small smile. “Do you believe in fate, Dean?”

“Uh, no.”

“I usually don’t, but… I don’t know, sometimes things happen that make me think. We all thought The Omega reborn would obviously still be The Alpha’s mate, but The Omega reborn isn’t the exact same person anymore—that much is obvious. I mean, I expected Castiel to still be a girl, but he clearly isn’t.”

“And that makes you think about fate?” Dean says.

“Well, sure. It makes me wonder if there’s a reason for it all, y’know? A reason why The Omega died and The Alpha was forced to survive, a reason why The Alpha can’t have The Omega, even after he finally found him.”

“If this is some subtle way of getting me to back off, it’s not gonna work,” Dean says, eyes narrowed.

“It’s not."

“Yeah, I don’t believe you for a second.”

“See, that’s the attitude we need to change. Not everything is about kicking you out of here. Contrary to what you might think, I don’t want you to get kicked out,” Charlie says.

“Every word you say about Cas, about The Alpha and The Omega, is another dig at me not being right for Cas. Even if it’s not intentional, how can you not see that?” Dean says irritably.

“Okay, gosh. Sorry,” Charlie says, backing off.

“Has it been ten minutes yet?” Dean says. “Because I think we’re done here.”

“Dean—” Charlie starts, but Dean has already turned away, moving toward the door. “Let’s just—we could try talking about something else?”

“I think I’ve had enough talking for one day,” Dean says, pausing by the door. “You seem like a decent person, but I’m just…” he stops, sighs. “Not today. I’m tapping out for the day.”

With that, he pushes the door open and steps out into the hallway.

Something immediately feels off, and Dean’s head whips to the side without his volition, eyes finding the source of his discomfort—the master, The Alpha, whoever, is standing at the door to Dean and Cas’s room.

The  _open_  door.

Dean doesn’t even realize he’s snarling until Charlie grabs at his elbow. He shakes her off and stalks up to the threat, furious.

“I’m not here to take him from you,” The Alpha says, and Dean may not be familiar with his scent, but he smells like he’s fucking  _grieving_ , of all things.

Dean can’t really find words, though, so he just slips in the door, between Cas and The Alpha, extending an arm to push Cas back a little.

“I’m all right,” Cas says, voice thin.

His mate is distressed. Dean doesn’t like it.

“My apologies for disturbing you tonight,” The Alpha says, and then he turns away and disappears down the hall.

Charlie passes by the room a moment later, sparing a disapproving look in their direction before continuing on, whether to follow The Alpha or return to her quarters Dean isn’t sure—and he doesn’t care either, to be honest.

Dean slams the door shut and locks it, and as soon as that’s done, he turns to Cas, takes inventory. Nothing is physically wrong with him, but he’s still giving off distress, alarm, and Dean noses against his temple, pulls him close, rubs his back in soothing circles.

“It’s all right,” he says, unsure. “It’s all right, Cas. I’m here now.”

Cas’s arms come up, hands gripping at the back of Dean’s shirt as he leans into Dean, melts against him. “I’m afraid,” Cas admits quietly.

“Don’t be. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“Dean, I… I’m…” Cas shakes his head and starts taking a step back.

Dean doesn’t want to release him, but he wouldn’t force Cas to stay close either, not when he wants distance, so he loosens his grip. Cas’s eyes flick up to meet Dean’s, and there’s something terrified in his expression, something that makes Dean’s gut clench.

“The Alpha said that… that I’m pregnant.”

It takes a moment for the words to get through Dean’s skull, for the meaning to sink in.

Jesus Christ. No wonder Cas is terrified.

“How… how could he possibly know that already?” Dean asks. “Isn’t it too early for your scent to have changed?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Cas says, shaking his head. “I’ve never been pregnant before. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Dean repeats with a quick nod. “Shit, Cas, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I was the one who talked you into it,” Cas says. His hands slide off Dean’s shoulders, down to hover low over his own belly. “I don’t know what to do, Dean.”

“If you really don’t want the baby, maybe they’ll have a way to do away with it for you,” Dean says.

“It’s illegal,” Cas says, biting his lip.

Dean knows that, of course. With the population the way it is, the birth rate still struggling to stay at a level that will guarantee safety from extinction, abortion is illegal—and has been, ever since people realized just how drastically birth rates were dropping.

“So’s escaping from the compounds, but they did that without batting an eye,” Dean says.

Cas shakes his head and touches Dean’s cheek. “I don’t think I could abort it if I wanted to.” His thumb rubs along Dean’s cheekbone. “It’s part you, part me. I like that. I just… I just wish I didn’t have to be so scared.”

“You  _don’t_  have to be scared. I’ll be with you the whole way.”

Cas looks back and forth between Dean’s eyes, searching, and then he just buries his face in Dean’s neck, stepping in close. Dean gets the sense that Cas isn’t telling him something, but he lets it slide for the time being. Questioning Cas can wait until they’re feeling safer, until Cas isn’t so afraid of the nine months to come, afraid of his own biology.

Until then, he’ll just hold him, keep him safe.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one; sorry. I wrote it last night, and I was kinda super tired. I'll try to write a more plot relevant part next time.

Dean wakes up gradually, warm and rested. He’s on his side, curled up around his mate, no space between them, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Lowering his head, he noses at the nape of Cas’s neck, nips at the bone that protrudes there, and Cas shifts, mumbling indistinctly. Then—

“Dean?” he hears, Cas’s voice scratchy with sleep.

“Mm, Cas,” Dean answers, and presses a kiss to Cas’s neck. He immediately follows it up with an open-mouthed kiss, sloppy and wet, and Cas shudders, pressing back against Dean.

“Good morning,” Cas says, grinding his ass into Dean’s groin. “Looks like someone’s awake,” he adds.

Dean chuckles. “Looks like,” he agrees, lifting his upper torso enough to lean over Cas and kiss him.

Cas hums contentedly as Dean pulls back, and when their eyes meet, Cas smiles and says, “My alpha.”

Dean wants to call Cas a sap, but warmth blooms in his chest at those words, which makes him just as goddamn sappy. So he answers, “My omega.”

Like this, Cas smells amazing, sleepy and relaxed and  _happy_ , and Dean feels infected by it, wants more of it. He rolls his hips forward, slow, and savors the way Cas pushes back, moving in sync with him.

Not long after, Dean detects the scent of Cas’s slick, honeyed and enticing, and the only logical response is to get the thin layers of cloth between them out of the way, so that it’s just skin against skin, hot and a little wet because Cas is actually leaking, quiet but wanting.

“Dean,” he sighs when the head of Dean’s cock nudges his opening but slips, slides up along his crack instead. “Oh, Dean, inside,” he encourages, and who is Dean to deny him?

So he only grinds along the furrow of Cas’s ass twice more before drawing back slightly, lining himself up, and pressing in, Cas opening up for him smooth and easy and so, so good.

On their sides like this, Dean can’t exactly get any major thrusting action in, but he doesn’t really want or need to, content to push into Cas, slow and steady, drawing breathy gasps from his mate, his name murmured gently, reverently.

He isn’t sure how long they rock together, like that, but eventually Cas gets impatient, wants more. He squeezes down around Dean, urges Dean to knot him, and fuck.

Not so long ago Dean was too weirded out by his knot to even jerk himself off, but now, hearing his mate beg for his knot makes him almost blind with want, and he can’t resist rolling Cas onto his stomach, settling on top of him and sliding back inside, rougher this time, faster.

They both groan with satisfaction, and Dean speeds things up, because he wants to please his mate, wants to knot him, purely because he wants to be knotted.

“God, yeah,” he breathes, mouthing hotly at the back of Cas’s neck, “Fuck—fuck, yes, you take me so well, Cas.”

Cas just moans, cutting himself off with a sharp yelp when Dean gets the angle perfect, brushing against his prostate.

It doesn’t take long for them to reach climax, and in the aftermath, Dean coaxes them back onto their sides so that he won’t crush Cas. He gathers Cas close, as close as he can be, and shuts his eyes, figuring that he can nap a bit while they wait out his knot.

“I love you.”

The words are quiet, so quiet that Dean almost misses them, and he says, “Cas, did you just—”

“I love you,” Cas repeats, louder, firmer. “I… need you to know that.”

“Jesus, Cas, we barely know each other,” Dean says.

“But we’re mates,” Cas says. “And you have… become everything to me. I know the same holds true for you with regards to me.”

Dean huffs, unable—and unwilling—to deny it. “Yeah,” he says, but he can’t get himself to repeat those three words back to Cas, even though it is unmistakably the feeling burning in his chest.

“Dean, I… I think it’s all true,” Cas says, a hint of fear in his scent, cold and bitter. “I remembered—some things. Not everything, but—but I dreamed some things, and remembered some other things.”

“What things, Cas?” Dean asks stiffly, because Cas is being vague, and Dean doesn’t like it.

“Things about The Omega. The Alpha. I… I remembered his name was Cain, and he’d never even introduced himself to me. I—I know that he and I—” Cas pauses, scent going thick with sorrow, and finishes, “—that we lost a child. Stillborn.”

“Fuck,” Dean says, shaking his head. “Fuck, Cas, you can’t—it’s not possible. Your imagination is just getting carried away. That’s gotta be it.”

“No, Dean. They’re memories. I know it,” Cas says, and Dean wishes they weren’t tied together, wishes he could walk away for a second and clear his goddamn head.

“So what now, then? You think you’re The Omega?”

Cas’s voice is resigned. “I know I am.”

“Then what am I? Your thing on the side? Do you—fuck, do you even want me here anymore, now that The Alpha is within your reach?”

“Dean,” Cas says, pained. “I love you.”

“How? The Alpha and The Omega have to be together, don’t they?”

“I don’t care about that,” Cas says. “Maybe I loved him then, but I don’t anymore. I have the memories, and maybe that makes me The Omega, but it doesn’t make me any less yours.”

Dean shakes his head even though Cas can’t see him. “Christ,” he murmurs. “What do we do now?”

Before Cas can answer, there’re two sharp knocks on the door, followed by Charlie’s muffled voice—

“Guys? Breakfast is being served.”

“Sorry, we’re a little tied up right now!” Dean calls out, and Cas elbows him in the ribs. But Dean can’t get angry about it, not when there’s a bit of tartness in his mate’s scent, giving away his embarrassment.

God, he’s adorable.

“TMI, Dean,” Charlie says in the meantime. “I’ll come back and get you in say, half an hour?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Charlie,” Cas says.

Dean waits a moment before nuzzling in close, nose brushing the nape of Cas’s neck. “Sorry, Cas,” he says, “I couldn’t resist.”

“Shut up,” Cas answers, but his hands find Dean’s, fingers twining together, and Dean figures they’re okay.

For now.


	20. Chapter 20

After Dean’s knot goes down, Castiel and Dean get up and clean off—there are apparently no private bathrooms for residents, but a bucket has been provided for them, for bringing water back to the room, and Dean goes to fill it up.

They don’t speak as they clean themselves off and get dressed. Castiel doesn’t know what to say, and Dean doesn’t seem to, either.

Ordinarily, the quiet wouldn’t bother him, but Castiel can’t help fretting over what he said. Maybe he’s said too much. Or maybe it’s just too soon. Or too direct.

Or Dean just doesn’t love him back.

Castiel wants to dismiss the notion, but—but so much of what has happened between them has been driven by instinct. Not even  _natural_  instinct. He remembers Meg insisting that what happened in the compounds wasn’t real, remembers all the days that he spent transitioning, recovering.

Remembers getting put under by tranqs for the operations. Remembers waking each time to pain, to blinding white light, to dizziness and confusion, confusion that quickly gave way to fear, anger.

He knows that alphas have it easier, but he wonders whether Dean’s experience was even remotely similar.

What if the love he feels for Dean has been  _manufactured_ , somehow?

The thought makes him shudder, but then Dean is there, arms warm and solid and  _real_  around him.

“You’re scared,” Dean murmurs, pausing to press a kiss to the top of Castiel’s head. “I’m here,” he says. “It’s gonna be all right.”

Castiel lets himself melt into Dean’s embrace, tired. First the compound, and now—now  _this_. Castiel is tired of fighting, tired of guessing, tired of worrying about what the future might hold—about what unnamed people want from him.

“Shh,” Dean soothes, concern seeping from his very pores. “Shh, Cas, it’s okay. We’ll get through this.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, hating himself for his weakness.

“Hey, don’t be sorry,” Dean says, backing up slightly and grinning down at Castiel, because Dean is brave and strong and will bluff his way through his fear even if it kills him. “‘S not your fault we’re in this shithole.”

“I’m not apologizing for that,” Castiel says. “It’s enough that we’re in this… this impossible situation. You shouldn’t have to deal with me—breaking down, too.”

“You’re not breaking down,” Dean says, and he looks amused. “Dude, you’re more composed than I am. Pretty much always. And you’re a kid.” The word raises Castiel’s hackles, but before he can even say a word, Dean adds quickly, “Not a kid. I know.”

“You’re not  _that_  much older than me, Dean,” Castiel points out only a little sullenly.

Dean hasn’t said his exact age, but he did say that he had a brother named Sammy, four years his junior, who was turning sixteen soon. Basic arithmetic puts Dean  _at most_  four years older than Castiel.

“Feels like it, sometimes,” Dean says.

Castiel wants to protest, but then there’s a rap on the door, and Charlie says, “Guys, you decent?”

Dean looks at Castiel for confirmation before answering, “Yep!”

They go out the door and follow Charlie down the hall, and Castiel is surprised that no one is around.

“Where is everyone?” he asks.

“Most of ‘em are still eating breakfast,” Charlie says. “Some of the early risers have gone to work already.”

“Work?” Castiel repeats, curious.

“Yeah. How do you think we pay for all this crap? People gotta go to work so we can buy things.”

Castiel tries to pay attention to the turns that they make, but he finds it difficult to keep track of which direction he’s facing—not all of the turns are at exact right angles with each other, and soon he has no clue which direction the residences are in.

He wonders if the design was strategic. It is certainly clever, making it so that an infiltrator would have a hard time familiarizing himself with these passageways.

But Castiel’s musings stop short at the sound of conversation, echoing a little from up the hall. Anxiety rises in his chest, and his hand finds Dean’s.

Then they’re following Charlie out into a large cavern, a multitude of long tables lined up and populated with a number of people, all eating and talking amongst themselves.

This room could fit a small army, Castiel thinks.

But the chatter dies down quickly, and eyes turn toward the entrance, even as Charlie leads them down the side of the room, toward the serving line.

Castiel resists the urge to hide behind Dean. He dislikes being stared at like this, but he can bear it. He tries to block out the whispers, tries not to look back, but it’s difficult when he can feel so many pairs of eyes on him.

He finds himself scanning the tables, looking right back at the people who are watching him. Most of them turn their gazes away when he meets their eyes, and it gives him resolve.

He will not be the one to duck and hide.

“You okay?” Dean asks lowly, coming to a stop behind Charlie.

Castiel accepts a tray from Dean and replies, “I’m fine.”

Conversation gradually picks up again, and Charlie says, “Sorry ‘bout that. They’ve all been waiting to see you. You’re lucky we kept your lodgings a secret, or there might’ve been a crowd at your door this morning.”

Castiel stiffens despite himself. “What do they  _want?_ ” he asks.

Charlie turns concerned eyes in his direction. “Kidding, Castiel,” she says, a hint of a smile stretching her lips. “I was kidding.”

“Well, it wasn’t funny,” Dean says. “I don’t think we’ve gotten to the point where we can just joke about these things.”

Castiel expects Charlie to just laugh it off, but she says, “Okay. Sorry. I’ll keep that in mind.”

They fall silent then, filling their plates with food. Castiel doesn’t think he has much of an appetite, but when Dean sees that Castiel only has a small lump of scrambled eggs on his plate, he tuts and sets his own tray down, scooping large helpings of eggs and potatoes onto Castiel’s plate.

“I won’t be able to finish it,” Castiel protests as Dean goes for the sausage.

Lowering his voice, Dean says, “You might be eating for two, Cas. If you wanna keep the baby, probably a bad idea to start off by starving it.”

Castiel nods to accept Dean’s point, but when Dean returns his plate to him, he says, “I really won’t be able to finish this much food.”

“I’ll eat what you don’t,” Dean answers, turning his attention back to his own plate.

They reach the end of the table, where Charlie is waiting for them, and Castiel snags half a grapefruit before following her across the room. He finds his eyes scanning the occupants of the room again, and he doesn’t even realize he’s looking for Cain until he finds Abaddon and feels disappointment that Cain isn't beside her.

It’s incomprehensible.

He doesn’t  _care_  about The Alpha. So what is he feeling? Is it some echo from his memories?

It occurs to Castiel that Charlie is weaving through the tables on a trajectory straight toward Abaddon’s table, and Castiel supposes it makes sense that he would be expected to eat there. The general population might not even know that “The Omega” they believe in is not mated to The Alpha.

“Good morning,” Abaddon greets them as they take their seats, Dean and Castiel side by side and Charlie across from them. Also at the table are Crowley and Meg, but none of the three have trays in front of them—presumably, they finished eating and have been waiting for Dean and Castiel to join them.

“Morning,” Dean says.

“I hope your accommodations were to your satisfaction,” Abaddon says.

“Shower pressure’s not as good as it was in the compound,” Dean says before digging in to his meal. Castiel figures he is only saying so to be contrary—Castiel thought the shower was perfectly adequate. He only wishes he could shower in a private bathroom and not a stall.

“Castiel?” Abaddon prompts.

“I have no complaints,” he says.

Crowley sighs. “I’ve no time for this,” he grumbles.

Abaddon shoots a glare at him before saying to Castiel, “You’ll be pleased to hear that Balthazar is arriving in a few hours. He tried to arrange a flight back, but the best he could get was a train. A team will be collecting him from 0622 shortly.”

Castiel only looks at Abaddon blankly when she finishes her speech, because he has no idea what she is talking about.

Frowning, Crowley says, “He’s clueless.”

“Do you—” Abaddon starts, hesitantly. She stops, starts over. “You  _do_ remember, don’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Castiel admits, shaking his head.

“Compound 0622 is pretty far north from 0918,” Dean says after swallowing a mouthful of food. “Aren’t you worried about giving away your exact location to us?”

“No,” Meg says nonchalantly. “You won’t be leaving here anytime soon.”

“The Master said you remembered his name,” Abaddon says to Castiel, ignoring the others.

“I don’t remember much else,” Castiel says. “I’m guessing I’m supposed to remember Balthazar.”

Abaddon sighs, something sad in her eyes, and then she gets to her feet and stalks away from the table.

“Does this mean we’re finally getting to work?” Crowley calls after her. Abaddon doesn’t answer, doesn’t even turn back to look, and Crowley huffs with annoyance before getting to his feet and following her away.

“I gotta head out with ‘em,” Meg says. “Duty calls.”

“Knock ‘em dead,” Charlie says as Meg gets to her feet. “But not literally. We don’t wanna get publicity for murder.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “ _You’re_  the rookie, not me,” she says before leaving.

“Eat your food, Cas,” Dean chides, and Castiel picks up his fork. Meanwhile, Dean says to Charlie, “Don’t you guys get publicity for breaking people out of compounds anyway? What’s killing a couple guards on top of that?”

“The government actually keeps it quiet when people escape from the compounds,” Charlie says. “I mean, it’s not like they’d be noticed. They’ve got no contact with their families or their loved ones, and even if their friends in the compounds know they’re gone, it’s not like their friends could reach out of the compounds either.”

If Castiel thought he had little appetite before, he has absolutely no appetite now.

Oh, he misses Mother and Father, and Sammy.

Have they explained to Sammy why Castiel never came home from school that day?

“Cas,” Dean says, and Castiel blinks back to himself, gets his emotions back in order. Dean has half-turned toward him, pulling him in, and Castiel noses at Dean’s jaw, pulling in deep breaths of his scent.

“Shit,” Castiel dimly hears Charlie saying. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Just keep your mouth shut,” Dean snaps, but Castiel presses at his chest, gentles him.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie repeats. “I keep forgetting how new this all is to you guys. I’ve been in the system a while. Guess I’m desensitized to it. And I spent time with people who had come out of the compounds too, so I knew more or less what to expect when I went in there.”

Dean touches Castiel’s cheek carefully, like he’s something breakable. Castiel knows that he isn’t, but he supposes he hasn’t done a good job of showing Dean that.

“Try to eat something, all right?” Dean says. “Don’t make me feed you.”

Castiel nods and lifts his fork again. He scoops up a forkful of egg and puts it in his mouth, chews, swallows. The flavor and texture are good, buttery and fluffy, and Castiel decides he can stomach some more.

“You guys are… surprisingly precious,” Charlie observes, and when Castiel looks up at her, she’s smiling fondly.

“Shut the hell up,” Dean says, but Castiel can tell that his mate is pleased with Charlie’s words this time.

They eat in silence for a time, and Castiel discovers to his delight that the fried potatoes have bits of onion in them—it improves Castiel’s appetite, which noticeably lifts Dean’s spirits.

“So who’s this Balthazar?” Dean eventually asks Charlie, when his plate is almost empty. Castiel has valiantly demolished three quarters of the food Dean heaped onto his plate, but he doesn’t think he can eat much more.

“I’ve actually never spoken to him,” Charlie says. “0918 was one of the compounds assigned to Abaddon—she always wanted to be close to The Alpha, so she was never far from base. But Balthazar is uh, I guess he has disagreements with The Alpha sometimes, so he’s got all the compounds that are farther away.”

“But who is he?” Dean prods.

Charlie shrugs, turning cautious eyes on Castiel.

“I’m all right,” Castiel says. “You can tell us.”

“Supposedly, he is to The Omega what Abaddon is to The Alpha,” Charlie says.

“What does that mean?” Dean asks.

“Well, alphas and omegas had personal servants way back when. Betas. Abaddon belonged to The Alpha. Balthazar belonged to The Omega.”

“I don’t remember him,” Castiel says.

Charlie bites her lip. “Y’know, I don’t know if you’ll recognize him at all,” she admits. “I guess Abaddon and The Alpha have made it through all these years without ever dying, but Balthazar died once, and they managed to find him and recover his memories. But Abaddon says he looks nothing like he used to.”

“Well, Abaddon recognized me, and I’m not female anymore,” Castiel says.

Dean looks at Castiel sharply, and Castiel reaches out, wraps a hand around his alpha’s wrist to calm him.

“I don’t know how it works,” Charlie says, a little helplessly. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” After a pause, she says, “C’mon. Let’s clear the table, and then I’ll show you guys around this place. I promise, you’re gonna love it.”

Castiel flashes a quick smile up at Charlie as she gets to her feet, but he doesn’t feel very enthusiastic about getting a tour of his new cage.

 _You won’t be leaving here anytime soon_ , Meg had said.

Holding back a sigh, Castiel joins Dean in following Charlie away from their breakfast table.


	21. Chapter 21

An hour later, Castiel must admit that he is impressed with this place, despite his initial misgivings. Charlie hasn’t been able to give a precise answer for how long it has been around, but it has existed long enough to develop into what is essentially an independently functioning society.

The parallel of law enforcement, of course, takes the form of Cain and his closer followers, the ones that take orders directly from him and Abaddon. Charlie has said that they also have a pastor who provides religious counsel to believers.

The residents grow a great number of vegetables themselves via artificial sunlight, and there’s even livestock, to Castiel’s surprise. A lot of clothing is made underground here, to save money that could be spent on things that they cannot easily make on their own—weapons and piping for plumbing, for instance.

There is also a school of sorts, complete with teachers and a library—small, of course, given the relatively small number of children—but a school nonetheless. Charlie says that they can’t go in while class is in session, but they’re permitted to look through a window in the door—this one is actually solid, unlike the grated ones that appear almost everywhere else.

As they move away from the area sectioned off for educating the young, Dean asks, “Where to next?”

“The armory, I guess,” Charlie says shrugging.

“You’d let  _us_  in the armory,” Dean says flatly, frowning at Charlie.

“What do you mean?”

“Well I figured with everything that’s going on with us and The Alpha, you wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t trust you?” Charlie finishes when Dean’s words trail off. She stops walking then and says, “I’m not here to judge whether you guys are trustworthy or not. Is there a reason why we shouldn’t trust you?”

“None at all,” a new voice chimes in before Castiel or Dean can answer, and Castiel spins around to see a woman coming toward them, smiling widely. “Colette, darling, it’s been forever,” she adds as she approaches, reaching out toward Castiel.

But Dean edges in front of Castiel just slightly, blocking her, hostility emanating from him in waves. Castiel thinks he might choke on the thick acridity in the air, yet even as the woman shifts her attention to Dean, her eyes remain unconcerned.

“He’s not who you think he is,” Dean says. Castiel just wraps a hand around his elbow, praying that he won’t do something stupid like  _attack_.

“I’m not a threat to you,” the woman says, holding her hands up. “Beta.”

Charlie sighs heavily. “Pamela, I don’t think now’s a good time.”

“Nonsense,” the woman—Pamela—answers. “Colette—”

“Castiel. My name is Castiel.”

Pamela’s smile fades a little, confusion clouding her gaze for only a moment, and then she says. “Yes, of course. Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”

Dean actually growls, and Castiel startles a little at the sound, grip tightening on Dean’s elbow in the hopes of grounding him.

“Dean, please,” Pamela says, shaking her head. “You don’t have to get all territorial about pet names. She’s all yours.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at her. “ _She?_  You’ve got eyes. I’m clearly a man.”

“I’ve got this one,” Charlie jumps in, and when Castiel turns toward the redhead, she looks enthusiastic, the way she does whenever she shares bits of trivia with Dean and Castiel. “So back in the day, pronouns weren’t based on the male-female part of our gender—they were based on alpha-beta-omega. So alphas were ‘he,’ omegas were ‘she,’ and betas were ‘ee,’” Charlie says.

“‘Ee’?” Castiel repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Well not just an e all by itself. They stuck a y on the end, so it wouldn’t look stupid,” Charlie says. “Anyway, after the alphas and omegas were pretty much all gone, the betas took over he-she pronouns. My guess is, it was as much a symbolic gesture of taking over the alpha-omega roles as it was just a way to make it so not everyone was called ‘ey.’”

“But if this was part of history, then we should’ve learned about it in school,” Castiel points out.

“Cas,” Dean says, “remember who controls curriculum in schools?”

“Right,” Castiel says, and looking up at Dean, he’s relieved to see that his mate seems to be out of that instinctive alpha must-protect-mate mode.

“Anyway,” Charlie says, grinning, “if you hear The Master or Abaddon or Pamela slipping up now and then, that’s why.”

“Pretty much,” Pamela confirms. “I’ve had a ton of time to get used to it, but it still feels wrong to me.”

But this doesn’t make sense. Cain said that there had only been enough of that elixir for four people, and he’d specified that those four people were himself and Abaddon, and Castiel’s past self—Colette, apparently—and his “most trusted servant.” Given this, and the fact that Pamela was supposedly around before the revolution, she would have had to be his “most trusted servant.”

But then who is Balthazar? During the conversation at breakfast, Castiel received confirmation that Balthazar was Abaddon’s counterpart for The Omega.

“You may not have your memories, but you’re still a quick one,” Pamela says, smiling, and Castiel stares at her, startled.

Did she just—

“Read your mind? Basically,” Pamela says.

“Okay,  _definitely_  not the right time for that,” Charlie says, but Castiel is intrigued. Scared, but curious.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean says.

“I’m not hurting your precious Cas, Dean, I promise. I only took a peek into that funny little head of his,” Pamela says.

“Who  _are_  you?” Castiel asks.

“Well. I  _was_  a friend, but seeing as you don’t remember me, I guess I’m nobody, now,” Pamela answers. “It’s not a blow to me, but darling, when Balthazar comes to you… try to be delicate with em. I’d say that ey hasn’t missed you as much as Cain has, but then I’d be lying.”

With that, Pamela turns around and leaves the way she came.

When she’s disappeared around the corner, Dean says, “What the fuck was all that about?”

“She’s uh, kind of our resident psychic,” Charlie says, lips twisting into a wry smile. “Apparently she’s gotten The Alpha and his soldiers out of quite a few tight spots.”

“But how is she immortal too?” Castiel asks.

“I’ve got no clue,” Charlie says. “They all keep real quiet about that. You’ll have to ask one of them what they did. Or just wait for your own memories to come back.”

Castiel frowns but says nothing more.

“Y’know what, I’m proud of you guys,” Charlie says as she starts leading them down the hall again.

“For what?” Dean asks, nose scrunched up a little, and Castiel is taken aback at the fondness that bursts to life in his chest at the sight.

“For taking this all in stride. I mean, it’s really been a lot to take in,” Charlie says. “I should treat you guys to some ice cream or something.” Before either of them can speak up, Charlie adds, “Oh my god, that’s a great idea! I’m a genius. Let’s get some ice cream.”

“I’m still pretty full from breakfast,” Castiel says.

“I’ll make sure you get a small scoop, then,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes. “C’mon, ice cream time.”

“Fine by me,” Dean says.

But as they walk down the hall, Castiel feels Dean’s eyes on him, and he knows that they’ll have to talk later—Dean must have questions about what Pamela found when she looked into Castiel’s “funny little head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep opening up textposts thinking "now THIS is gonna be the part where Balthazar shows up" but I never actually seem to get there...
> 
> (Also ehehe I've been sitting on that pronoun thing for MONTHS. It's actually part of a different fic that I have planned, which is gonna be set essentially in the same 'verse, though it might end up having to be slightly AU from this fic. Don't know when it'll ever come to fruition, though. I have too many things to write.)


	22. Chapter 22

It turns out Charlie was lying about the “small” scoop; Castiel is served a veritable mound of ice cream that he can’t even  _think_  about finishing. Fortunately, Dean happily helps Castiel out of his predicament.

“So,  _now_  do you wanna go see the armory?” Charlie asks.

“Cas?” Dean says, looking to him for a decision.

Castiel shrugs. “I suppose we have nothing better to do.”

“Oh come on, would it kill you to be a little more enthusiastic? I just treated you guys to ice cream!”

“As though you paid for it,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “Just lead the way.”

So Charlie leads them out of the pantry that she’d brought them to for the ice cream and down a hallway.

“Do you have a map of this place?” Castiel asks.

“Not on me,” Charlie says. Glancing back over her shoulder, she grins and adds, “What, you lost?”

“Completely,” Castiel responds honestly. Without Charlie, he would have no idea how to get back to the quarters that now belong to Dean and him.

“Well, we don’t have a lot of maps of the tunnels,” Charlie says. “Security risk, y’know? We can’t have someone who comes and goes daily swiping a map one day and accidentally leaving it somewhere topside.”

“Meg says we won’t be leaving anytime soon, though,” Castiel points out. “So there shouldn’t be any risk in letting us have a map.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Charlie says. “I’ll ask around.”

They walk a few minutes in silence, passing by a few people going in the opposite direction. They all seem to have destinations in mind, but they also slow down to stare at Castiel. He tries to pay them no mind, but it makes him uncomfortable to be treated like a spectacle wherever he goes.

“How did you get pulled into this movement?” Dean asks.

Charlie shrugs. “I just sorta fell into it. My family was all dead, and I happened to stumble into this place.”

“Wait—you accidentally got into  _here?_ ” Dean says incredulously.

“Well it was—no, what really happened was… long story. Basically, I was having a crisis because I didn’t know what I was doing with my life, and turns out one of my friends was born here. She uh, recruited me. I’ve never looked back.”

“You say you were recruited, so your friend must have shared some goals of this… organization,” Castiel says. “What did she tell you to get you to join?”

“Equality,” Charlie says. “Abolition of the compounds, as soon as it’s feasible. And before it becomes feasible, more humane treatment of the residents, at the very least.”

“You don’t think The Alpha wants things to go back to the way they were?”

“No,” Charlie answers. “He’s… I mean, I’m not the closest person ever to him, but he’s always sounded reasonable and open-minded whenever I did talk to him.”

Castiel opens his mouth to cut Charlie off because he can  _feel_  Dean getting tense at his side, but it turns out he doesn’t have to—they hear commotion from farther up the hall, and then a group of people rounds the corner, heading straight at them. Castiel recognizes some of them—Crowley and Abaddon and Meg, and a few more of the people who were there to collect Castiel from Compound 0918.

They all look agitated, walking swiftly, but one of them with an unfamiliar face comes to an abrupt stop, forcing some people behind him to crash into him. His eyes are fixed on Castiel’s face, though, and it isn’t a stretch to guess that this must be Balthazar.

The blond man resumes his pace toward Castiel, but the others are slower to follow, no doubt wary of crashing into Balthazar again. Castiel wants to back away, wants to hide behind Dean, but he stands his ground. The man’s face is unknown to Castiel—he looks to be in his forties, prominent creases lining his forehead, obvious crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.

He looks exhausted.

“Master,” he says, dropping to his knees, and Castiel actually does take a step back at this, startled. Dean takes the opportunity to step in front of Castiel, protective as always.

“ _Balthazar_ ,” Abaddon says as she reaches them, clearly exasperated.

“We’re wasting time,” a thin man says tensely.

“If you’re so intent on heading back out, go ahead,” Balthazar says as he gets to his feet. He can’t seem to take his eyes off Castiel, but his words are clearly directed at the others. “ _I_  certainly won’t stop you.”

Abaddon exhales sharply. “We’re to govern together in his absence,” she says. “That won’t work if you aren’t open to discussion.”

“You’re wrong there,” Balthazar says. “We’re only to govern together when  _both_ our masters are absent.”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” Crowley says.

“Um. Balthazar, that’s not—” Charlie starts.

“I know, I know. She’s not the same as she was before,” Balthazar interrupts.

“If you’re—implying that I take over, that won’t be happening,” Castiel says uneasily.

“I agree,” Abaddon says.

Balthazar finally turns his back to Castiel, and it feels like a weight has lifted from him when the man’s eyes, despairing but so hopeful, move away from him.

To Abaddon, Balthazar says, “He is the only one with the right to lead us.”

“I don’t disagree,” Abaddon says. “But he’s been here less than a day. He’s practically a child. He’s not equipped to make the decisions that you and I need to be making.”

“Um. Time out?” Charlie says a little tentatively, and Abaddon and Balthazar look over at her expectantly, impatiently—it’s pretty clear that they’re used to calling the shots when Cain isn’t around, that they don’t like being interrupted. “Some of us don’t know what’s going on,” Charlie finishes.

“We really don’t have time to explain right now,” Abaddon says.

“I want to know what’s happening,” Castiel puts in, for Charlie’s benefit.

“Short version: the Master was taken,” Abaddon says.

Castiel can’t explain the way his gut twists up at the news, and he reaches out, presses a hand to Dean’s back, keeping himself here, now.

Cain is in danger. Somehow, that knowledge is terrifying.

“So go get him,” Balthazar says.

“He was clearly captured as a member of the resistance,” Abaddon says. “This isn’t just any other extraction. We’re going to need all the manpower we can get. That means yours too, Balthazar.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Balthazar says. “If they can’t get any information out of him, they’ll execute him, and he’ll be born again. We’ll find him the way you found us.”

Abaddon clenches her jaw. “No,” she says.

“I need to go.”

The hallway is silent following those words, and Castiel doesn’t realize that they came out of his mouth until Dean spins around to face him, uncomprehending.

“I… it has to be me,” Castiel says, mouth gone dry.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Cas?” Dean hisses furiously.

“Extractions are routine, aren’t they?” Castiel says. “Cain has been around long enough that he wouldn’t be taken while the others got away, not unless it was intentional.”

“The Master would never,” Abaddon protests.

“Well, he did spend over a century searching for his mate, only to find him mated to someone else when he got back,” Crowley says. “I think anybody would have a death wish after that.”

“Cas, you’re not going anywhere,” Dean says.

“Absolutely correct,” Balthazar says, eyes landing on Dean and seemingly seeing him for the first time. “You must be Dean.”

Dean half-turns so that he can see Balthazar without putting his back to Castiel. “Yeah, I am. So?”

Balthazar looks him up and down and says, “I like you better than her first choice, at any rate.”

Abaddon visibly grinds her teeth together. “You are out of line,” she snarls.

“Maybe,” Balthazar says flippantly. Looking back at Castiel, he says, “You can’t go out there.”

“Oh, so are you telling me what I can or can’t do?” Castiel asks. “I was under the impression that you took orders from me. You’re going to help Abaddon get Cain out, and I’m going with you.”

The corners of Balthazar’s lips twitch upward, barely perceptible from where Castiel’s standing. “Was that an order?”

“Cas,” Dean hisses, shaking his head.

“I have to do this,” Castiel says. “Please come with me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean breathes. “You’re going on a fucking rescue mission for your—whatever. Do you really even—”

Dean’s question cuts off there, but Castiel can fill in the rest of it— _do you really even want me there?_

Castiel aches.

He takes a step closer to Dean, lowers his voice, and answers, “Yes, Dean. Always.”

In his peripheral vision, he becomes aware of the others in the hallway awkwardly keeping their eyes turned away. It’d be funny if the circumstances weren’t so dire.

“But how?” Dean asks, and Castiel can practically _feel_ his hesitation, his reluctance, his anger at having to ask this question. Castiel’s mate is insecure and hates it.

“I love you,” Castiel says, quieter than before but obviously still audible to the others in the hallway. Yet despite the audience, it is easier to say now than it was just this morning.

Dean licks his lips, looks at Castiel like he’s determined to make himself believe the words.

So Castiel repeats them. “I love you. That’s how,” he says, firmly, indisputably.

Dean nods, but there’s still a hint of uncertainty around him. Castiel will just have to keep at it until Dean believes him.

“All right, as touching as this all was, let’s wrap this up. The Master needs rescuing,” Crowley says.

“I really advise against you coming with us,” Abaddon says, but Castiel is already crossing the short distance over to them, flanked on either side by Dean and Charlie.

“I’m coming. I don’t have to be on the front lines, but I have to be there. Cain might not want to come back,” Castiel says.

Abaddon heaves a sigh and turns away, leads the way back down the hall. The people turn around and fall into line, and Castiel ends up walking with Dean and Charlie on either side of him, Balthazar in front of him.

“How do you figure Cain wouldn’t want to come back?” Charlie asks, skeptical. “This place is his life.”

“If he died and was reborn, he knows his followers wouldn’t rest until they found him,” Castiel starts. Balthazar scoffs, and Castiel corrects himself, “Abaddon, at least, wouldn’t rest until she found him.”

“But—” Charlie starts, and then she pauses. “Oh. Oh, I see what you’re saying. He wants to forget, too.”

“I think it’s different for everyone, though,” Balthazar says. “Pamela never regained eir full memories, but I remember everything from my past life.”

It’s quiet for a moment after that, and then Castiel says, “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you at all.”

“I know,” Balthazar says. The words are heavy, laden with disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel repeats.

“Don’t—don’t say that,” Balthazar replies.

“Balthazar!” Abaddon barks from farther up. “Gonna need you to gather your men.”

“Go on,” Castiel says instinctively.

Before he can take the words back, Balthazar has already nodded and left, a quick “Yes, Master,” trailing after him.

“Dude,” Charlie says. “That’s so trippy. I’ve never seen him take orders without pushing back.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s terrified of how naturally it came to him—both giving the order and making the decision to go out and rescue Cain.

But for better or for worse, the decision has been made, and Castiel is sticking with it. He’s just relieved that Dean is at his side.


	23. Chapter 23

After Balthazar splits off from the group, presumably to gather his followers, Castiel follows Abaddon and the others into the garage through which they’d first entered this base. He counts several more vehicles here than there were before, and he can’t help but wonder just how many people Balthazar might have brought back with him. 

“Don’t we need a strategy?” Castiel asks Abaddon while the others mill about, loading weapons and supplies into the cars.

“Pointless to strategize before we know what we’re up against,” she answers. “The layouts of most compounds are similar, but we just hit 0622, so they’ve probably beefed up patrols both within and surrounding the compound.”

“So you think he’s still there?” Dean asks. “I mean, it would make sense for them to move him so that we wouldn’t know where to find him.”

Abaddon opens her mouth to reply but hesitates for a worrying moment. “He’ll be there,” she says.

It’s not convincing.

Then Castiel and Dean are directed into the back of one of the SUVs, and a moment later, Charlie climbs in. ”Abaddon said I oughta stick with you guys, since we’re such good friends now,” she says, grinning.

Castiel sees Balthazar burst through the door trailed by ten others—four men, six women. He confers briefly with Abaddon before barking out some orders and then approaching the vehicle, followed by two women.

Both are blond, one with straight hair and the other with curled. The curly-haired woman has a network of scarring on her left cheek extending from her jaw to the corner of her lips, making her skin look heavily wrinkled. Castiel shudders at the thought of how that might have happened.

The straight-haired woman slides into the driver’s seat, and the other gets in next to Charlie.

Balthazar takes the passenger seat up front, but he immediately turns around, finding Castiel’s eyes. ”Rachel and Hester,” he says, gesturing first to the driver and then to the woman who is buckling herself in beside Charlie. “My lieutenants.”

He seems to be waiting for some sort of a response, but Castiel is at a loss for words, so he just nods. Both women seem to be betas, so presumably they’ve been at the base, rather than in the system with Balthazar, which begs the question: what have they been doing while he was gone?

But then it occurs to Castiel that Crowley is a beta as well, that he was masquerading as a guard in a compound. Perhaps that is what Rachel and Hester have been doing.

“0622 isn’t a long drive from here,” Charlie says as the steel doors slide up and the cars start moving out. “Less than an hour.”

“The drive here took forty-eight minutes,” Hester says. After a pause, she addresses Balthazar, “Sir, I’m assuming we’re fully equipped. Are we?”

“Should be, yes,” Balthazar answers. “Don’t waste your energy on strategy. We don’t know how many reinforcements they might’ve called in yet.”

“I’m assuming they’ll take guards from the neighboring compounds,” Hester says. “And we need to factor in the fact that our access cards will have been disabled.” After a brief pause, she says, “The remote controls for the gates should still be functional, though that would be a very direct approach and, given our numbers, far too risky.”

“Are we taking the north side?” Rachel asks.

“Abaddon wants us all to stay together, at least until we reach the edge of the danger zone,” Balthazar says.

“Danger zone?” Castiel interjects.

“Patrols extend ten miles beyond the perimeter of each compound. To be safe, we consider anything within fifteen miles of a compound to be inside a danger zone,” Hester explains.

“So what are we gonna do when we get there? Camp?” Dean asks.

“We might have to do some surveillance,” Balthazar replies. “Abaddon has a guard on the inside of 0622, but communication outside the system is limited even for employees, so it’s hard to get word to them.”

“What communication is allowed is usually monitored, as well,” Rachel adds. “When we’re within range, we’ll try to radio Abaddon’s contact within the walls. Should give us a lead on how to bust him out.”

“It seems like you have a lot of experience with this,” Castiel comments.

“Not  _exactly_ ,” Rachel says. “I was trained through the guard program for the compounds, so I’m familiar with their rules and regulations. Hester is ex-military.”

That is probably the reason behind the scarring.

“How’d you guys end up here?” Dean asks.

“Irrelevant,” Hester says.

“Dude. He’s new here,” Charlie says. “Be nice.”

Hester eyes Charlie and says, “I don’t think you’re in any position to be giving  _me_ orders.”

“It was more of a suggestion than an order,” Charlie says.

“Didn’t sound like it.”

“Okay, Hester, tone it down a notch,” Rachel says. “It’s Dean, right?”

“What?” Dean says instinctively, and then he answers, “Oh—yeah.”

“I was actually born to a family who has been working for the cause, just on the outside,” Rachel says.

“Wait, you were born outside the compounds?” Dean asks.

“Yeah. My father was a born omega,” she says. “Registered with the government and everything.” In the rearview mirror, Castiel catches sight of the beta rolling her eyes. She continues, “Needless to say, I was expected to join the cause when I was old enough to contribute. They wanted me in the system, but I guess no one ever surfaced who was compatible with me, so I got myself into the guard program.”

“How ‘bout you, Hester?” Charlie asks with a pointed look.

“You don’t have to answer her,” Balthazar says from up front.

“I was honorably discharged on account of the torture I endured overseas,” Hester says nevertheless, blunt. ”No one wanted to hire me because of my supposed psychosis, and I couldn’t live off my army pension, so I ended up on the street. Balthazar found me.”

“I was tipped off,” Balthazar says.

“Tipped off by whom?” Castiel asks, curious.

“Pamela?” Dean asks.

Balthazar twists around in his seat at that. “Oh, so you’ve already met her,” he says. “Did she say anything to you?”

“Uh—not anything memorable,” Dean says.

Balthazar hums thoughtfully as he turns to face forward again. “Well, you’re right. Pamela sensed someone in need of our help and pointed us in Hester’s direction,” Balthazar says. “We fixed her paperwork so that the ugly parts of her time in the military wouldn’t show up on a background check, and after that, it was easy to get her a job in compound security.”

Castiel itches to ask about the torture, curious, but he knows that it must be a sensitive subject—he shouldn’t pry. Dean and Charlie seem to come to the same conclusion, and Rachel and Balthazar presumably already know Hester’s full story.

The rest of the ride passes quietly, solemnly, and Castiel just leans into Dean, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him.

He fears that Cain will already have been transported to another compound when they arrive.

He fears that Cain will be at the compound and that they’ll have to fight their way in to get to him.

He fears that they’ll reach Cain, only for him to refuse to come back with them.

He fears that he won’t be able to convince Cain to return, if it comes to that.

At last, the car lurches to a stop. Rachel and Hester are the first to disembark, apparently eager to stretch their legs. Castiel gets out after Dean and finds that they’re parked in a clearing, surrounded by very tall, thick trees. Redwoods. They’re in a redwood forest.

“Balthazar!”

That sounds like Abaddon, and sure enough, Castiel catches sight of Abaddon coming in their direction, a group of people following her, all wearing vests and heavily armed.

“I already made contact with Cecily. The Master is still here, in one of their holding cells. They’ve set this situation as code red,” Abaddon says, speaking quickly.

“What does that mean?” Castiel asks.

“More guards will come pouring in,” Balthazar says as Rachel and Hester—and the other followers from before—come to stand behind him.

From the way they’ve taken up positions, it almost looks as though Balthazar and Abaddon are facing off against each other. Castiel wonders if that is a possibility. He and Dean stand not quite in between, but off to the side, a “neutral” party. Charlie lingers there with them, seemingly unsure.

Balthazar goes on, “They’ll start scouring the surroundings for us. They’ve probably already started searching. We should scatter.”

“No—we have to move now.”

“We need to regroup,” Balthazar says. “We don’t know what we’ll be walking into, if we charge in there right now.”

Abaddon shakes her head. “According to Cecily, they haven’t even managed to double their numbers yet,” she says. “If we wait, we’ll lose our chance.”

“I don’t like walking in blind.”

“We  _won’t_  be walking in blind. We have information.”

Balthazar huffs a sigh, displeased. “Whose bright idea was it to leave the psychic behind?”

“Don’t complain about what we can’t change,” Abaddon says. “We have to go before they get fully organized.”

“I have a strategy, but it’ll put the lives of compound residents at considerable risk,” Hester says, appearing at Balthazar’s left.

“Let’s hear it,” Abaddon says.

“Set off explosives at each of the residences. It’ll take time for the fire department to get here, and in that time, the compounds have protocols for how security personnel are to respond. They’ll be preoccupied with evacuating residents, which will draw their resources away from guarding the Master.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Abaddon and Balthazar locking gazes as though discussing it purely through their expressions, and Dean says, “Wait. Guys, are we _seriously_  considering this?”

“We need to rescue the Master. Compound security will do their jobs clearing the residences with minimal casualties,” Abaddon says impassively.

“ _Minimal casualties?_ ” Dean repeats, aghast.

“You really don’t have a say in this,” Abaddon says. “Please refrain from interrupting again.”

“I agree with Dean,” Castiel says, finding his voice. Abaddon looks at him angrily, but Balthazar nods.

“I don’t like the idea of striking now. We scatter and regroup. Stealth is how we’re going to approach this,” he says decisively.

Abaddon’s jaw clenches and unclenches, but then she says, “Fine. Disarm, scatter, and camouflage.” She turns away, and her—troops, for lack of a better word—split off to their individual vehicles.

God,  _troops_.  _Soldiers_. Those really are the most apt words to describe them. They’re wearing vests, probably bulletproof vests, with all manner of holsters for their weapons. Castiel’s decision to come along was made impulsively, and looking at these men and women now, he realizes that he and Dean are in way over their heads.

When he turns, he sees that Balthazar’s people aren’t armed up (yet), heading back toward their vehicles. Hester, Charlie, and Rachel have gotten back in the car, but before Balthazar can get in, Castiel steps over to him, takes his arm.

“Cas?” Dean starts, inquisitive.

“Get in the car,” Castiel says. “Please,” he adds as an afterthought. “I need to speak with Balthazar alone.”

Dean looks doubtful.

“We won’t go anywhere,” Castiel says.

 _Please trust me_ , he urges with his eyes.

It seems to cost Dean a lot to get into the car and pull the door shut. The glass is tinted, but Castiel can imagine Dean’s eyes practically burning a hole through it, watching Castiel and Balthazar.

“Close the door,” Castiel says to Balthazar, and he shuts the door on Rachel’s questioning eyes.

“What is it?” he asks, concern emanating from him.

“I need you to promise me something.”

“What? If it’s the pregnancy, I won’t mention it if you don’t,” Balthazar says.

Castiel can feel his eyes going wide. “You—how—”

“I served you for a lifetime, Master. I know—I know you.”

Castiel exhales deeply, nods. “Yes, please keep that quiet. I don’t think anyone apart from Cain knows, unless he’s told Abaddon. Or—could she tell?”

“I doubt it,” Balthazar answers. “But—doesn’t your mate—”

“Oh, Dean knows, of course.”

Balthazar nods. Then he asks, “If not my silence, what did you want me to promise, Master?”

“You have to stop calling me that,” Castiel says. “My name is fine.”

“I—find that difficult.”

“You and Abaddon seem to have adapted to modern life just fine, as far as I can tell,” Castiel says. “It’s just a name.”

Balthazar sighs. “What did you want me to promise?” he repeats.

Castiel senses that the man won’t give ground on the title, at least not yet, so he lets it go. “Dean. I need you to protect him with your life.”

Balthazar frowns. “Yes, of course.”

“No, you don’t understand. If it comes to a choice between me and him, I need you to choose him.”

Balthazar’s expression shifts, curiously blank, like he’s been trained not to show his disobedience on his face, but he takes a step back, like the order actually repelled him. “No.”

“This is an order,” Castiel tries.

“ _No_.”

“I’m not saying it’ll come to that,” Castiel says. “I just need to—to know that he is safe.”

“I’ll keep you both safe,” Balthazar says. “But I will not—”

“You have to. If I die, I’ll come back. Dean won’t.”

“I’ve waited so many years for you,” Balthazar says, anguish blending into his scent, the bitterness so sharp, too sharp, unbearable. Castiel breathes through his mouth. “I can’t let you go now that I’ve found you again.”

“If it comes to that, you have to,” Castiel says. “I’ll never forgive you if Dean dies when you could have saved him.”

Balthazar turns away.

Castiel gives him a moment to collect himself and looks around. The other cars have all gone. The first set of windows of the only remaining car are not tinted, so he can see Rachel, watching them with concern. Her mouth is moving—she might be relating their movements to the others in the car, but he cannot hear what she is saying, so it follows that they cannot hear him and Balthazar, either.

Turning his eyes back to Balthazar, Castiel insists, “Promise me.”

“You can’t do this to me,” Balthazar says.

“Promise—”

“No!” Balthazar barks. “No, Master, not again. Never again.”

Castiel’s mouth goes dry. “Do you mean…” his voice fades, and he finds himself unable to continue.

“Yes,” Balthazar answers nevertheless. “I couldn’t—I had to—”

He stops, choked up, and Castiel crosses the short distance between them, spins him around. Balthazar’s eyes are red, his features contorted with the pain of the memory, and Castiel allows himself to be pulled into a hug, almost tight enough to be painful.

“I was sworn to protect you, but you made me swear to protect another. I did it once, and I’ve regretted it every waking moment of all these years,” he says, shuddering, shivering. “Never again.”

Castiel nods, reaching up to run a hand through the man’s hair, hopefully soothingly. “I’m—I’m sorry I asked. I didn’t know. I didn’t—remember.”

“I know,” Balthazar says softly, releasing Castiel all at once. He immediately takes a knee. “Apologies.”

“What?” Castiel says, bewildered.

“I shouldn’t have held you. That was—disrespectful.”

If Castiel were capable, he thinks he would have laughed. “This isn’t the 1800s,” he says instead. “It’s fine. Just like calling me Castiel is fine.”

Balthazar frowns at the suggestion, but he gets back to his feet.

“I’m sorry for asking that of you—again,” Castiel repeats, because he doesn’t think he can say that enough, now that he knows. He still wants Dean to be safe, wants it more than anything, but Balthazar cannot be the one to make that call.

Balthazar’s lips tug upward, the shadow of a smile, but there is no humor in his eyes as he replies, “Some things never change.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for going MIA unannounced; I realize it's been over a month since the last update. I received some bad news right around Christmas and it's made it difficult for me to motivate myself to write. It's also been pretty bad for inspiration. So if this chapter feels off, it's probably bc I'm pretty rusty. Blargh.
> 
> Anyhow, I'm back, and I'm gonna try to stay back. We'll see.
> 
> (Don't think Reapers is gonna be updating in February either, though. I feel kinda horrible about it bc I already missed Jan 11, but I really don't know if I've got the energy to figure out that tangled mess.)

It goes against Dean’s every instinct to let Cas stay outside the van to talk to Balthazar. He watches Cas through the tinted window, and though he can’t hear their conversation, he can see how tense it must be—Balthazar looks like he’s on the defensive. Cornered, scared, angry.

When Cas turns Balthazar around and hugs him, Dean actually growls. A hand lands on his shoulder, and he snatches it, twisting hard, instinctive, unforgiving.

“Oh—ow, Jesus!” Charlie yelps, and Dean releases her.

“Shit, sorry,” he bites out, but even he can hear that there’s nothing even remotely apologetic about his tone. He can’t help it—the world has turned blood-red, and he wants to burn the skin off Balthazar’s hands for thinking that he was allowed to touch Cas.

Fuck, that’s violent.

Violence is bad, he tries to tell himself, except that violence is all he can think about.

Maybe he could cut the alpha’s hands clean off.

“Dean, you need to control yourself,” one of the beta females says, the one with the ugly scar on her face. The one up in the driver’s seat is Rachel, and that makes this one Heather. No, Hester.

“Yeah, easy for you to say,” Dean answers, eyes on Balthazar as he drops to a knee in front of Cas. Dean contemplates breaking every bone in each of Balthazar’s hands. “You haven’t got these fucking—urges.”

“You are not just a set of unruly hormones,” Hester says stiffly.

“Sure feels like I am,” Dean grumbles.

Before anyone can answer him, the door slides open, and Cas climbs into the back next to Dean. Dean immediately scents him, trying to get a read on him, and he detects mild distress—anxiety, sorrow, something apologetic or regretful.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

“I’m sure Cas is fine. I, on the other hand, am not. You almost broke my fucking hand!” Charlie says.

“Oh, don’t act like you’re made of glass,” Hester says as Rachel starts the car. “If you’re going in with us, you’ll be facing more than a sore wrist.”

“Just ‘cause you’ve got all the battlefield experience doesn’t mean you’ve got the right to talk down to the rest of us,” Charlie snaps. “It hurts, and I’m damn well gonna at least try to make him feel bad about it.”

“Sorry,” Dean repeats.

“What happened?” Cas asks, curious.

“Nothing,” Dean says. “I was—I twisted Charlie’s wrist without meaning to.” Cas frowns at him, and he says, “She put her hand on me when I was—agitated.”

“Agitated, what an understatement,” Hester says. “Do you not smell the jealous alpha rage filling this goddamn car?”

Dean wants to snap at her, but Cas’s forehead presses to his jaw, and Dean turns his head toward his mate, scenting him carefully. God, he smells good, sweet and soothing, the distress from before gone entirely. Cas is a balm to the open wound in Dean’s chest, and Dean breathes him in, wishes it could always be like this.

Then Cas says, “Charlie, I understand. He did the twisty thing to me too, and it really hurt.”

Dean stiffens, taken aback. “What—when?”

“Well, to be fair, I was coming at you with a knife, and you weren’t really yourself,” Cas admits.

“Oh,” Dean says, trying to think back. He only remembers Cas brandishing a knife at him the first time they met, but then, if Dean wasn’t really himself, it was probably right after Naomi had done something to him.

“Hey, elaborate. This sounds interesting. Why were you going after Dean with a knife?” Charlie prods.

“It’s not important,” Cas answers.

“I think it’s very important,” Balthazar says from up front, and Dean feels a bit of that anger resurfacing.

“It wasn’t Dean’s fault,” Cas says. “The doctors did something to turn him feral, and I was afraid he would attack me.”

“Did he?” Balthazar asks.

“Of course not,” Cas replies, and even though Dean knows that that was the truth, it still feels good to hear how readily Cas answers that question.

“But you said he twisted your wrist.”

“I haven’t been abusing him,” Dean says.

“He was defending himself. I came at him first,” Cas adds.

“Of course you did,” Balthazar says. There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, and Dean can’t help the pulse of jealousy at the realization that Balthazar is probably remembering something that Cas had done in his past life.

That person wasn’t even Dean’s mate, not really, yet Dean still feels left out, jealous, like he ought to be the one who knows what Cas used to be like.

He wants Cas, wants every part of Cas, whether it’s his past or his future.

“What’s that?” Hester says suddenly, and Rachel and Charlie immediately ask, “What’s what?”

“I hear it too,” Balthazar says, hand landing on Rachel’s elbow. “Stop the car.”

Now that they’ve stopped moving, Dean can hear sirens, faint, coming from the direction of the compound.

“Fuck. What’s that mean?” he asks.

“I can’t be certain, but I think Abaddon disobeyed Master’s orders,” Balthazar says heatedly, hopping out of the car and slamming the door.

“Your orders?” Dean says, eyebrow raised.

Cas only shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Hester and Rachel are getting out of the car, and Cas, Charlie, and Dean get out after them. Balthazar has one hand on his hip, the other on his forehead. His eyes are squeezed shut, lips pressed thin.

“Your call, boss,” Rachel says. “We could go with Hester’s proposal.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Abaddon’s already done that,” Balthazar says, turning toward the group and opening his eyes.

“That’s a positive,” Hester says. “I see smoke.”

Dean tries to follow her line of sight, and when he concentrates, it does look like there’s some smoke rising in the distance, though it’s hard to be sure with how cloudy the sky is.

“Master, what do you want to do?” Balthazar asks, eyes on Cas, and Dean resists the urge to step in between them, to pull Cas behind him. As it is, he just holds his ground and glares.

“Sir, I hardly think that’s advisable,” Hester says, stepping closer to Balthazar.

Cas licks his lips. “I don’t think I have the experience to make decisions at a time like this.”

“We either retreat or we go in,” Rachel says.

“Odds are, Abaddon’s forces are all split up. It’ll be hard for the guards in the compound to round them all up,” Charlie says. “If they think that everyone’s already inside, we might have the element of surprise when we go in.”

“We’re still heavily outnumbered,” Hester says.

“Do you think we could escape if we went for it?” Cas asks.

“Some of us, maybe,” Hester replies.

That sounds—horrible. “Uh, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Dean says. “If the whole point of this organization is to stand up against the system and eventually stage a revolution, then we’ve gotta keep as many fighters alive as we can, right? Going into a fight like this, when we’ve got so much to lose…”

“But Abaddon’s already in. We need to help them,” Charlie says.

“If we go in to help them, we have no guarantee we’ll even make it out alive,” Dean says. “If it’s a choice between losing half of our fighters and all of them, shouldn’t we choose half?”

“Balthazar,” Cas says.

“You wanted to save The Alpha,” Balthazar says. “This will probably be our only chance, now that Abaddon has already made her move. But whatever you choose, I stand behind you.”

“This is insane,” Charlie says. “We can’t just let them die in there.”

Dean exhales sharply. “Let’s just go, then,” he says. “If we stay here arguing about it, it’ll be too late to do anything, and we might get caught.”

“You two should stay with the vehicle,” Balthazar says. “Rachel, give them—”

“I am not staying here,” Cas says adamantly, cutting Balthazar off.

“You can’t fight,” Balthazar says. “How will your presence help us in there?”

“If Cain won’t leave, I’ll need to be there,” Cas says.

“Well—what about Dean?” Balthazar says.

“What about me?”

“Dude, you don’t have to worry about him. He’s a fighter,” Charlie says. “Have you read what he did back in 0918?”

“No, but I’ll take your word for it,” Balthazar says. Eyes on Cas, he asks, “Are you certain of this?”

“Yes.”

Balthazar waits for a second before nodding toward Hester and saying, “Tell the others there’s been a change of plans. Stealth, pairs of two. Put Malachi and Azrael in the trees by the North and South Gates. We move now.”

“Yes, Sir,” Hester responds, already typing up a text message.

“Are we leaving the car here?” Dean asks, following Balthazar around to the back of the truck.

“Not anymore, we’re not,” he answers. “Put this on, and give the other to Master.”

Dean accepts the two vests thrust into his arms, and when he turns, Cas is already at his side, taking the smaller of the vests.

“Either of you know how to use a weapon?” Rachel is asking as she suits up.

“My dad taught me how to shoot a pistol and a rifle,” Dean says.

Rachel’s eyes land on Cas, and he says, “I was good at arcade games?”

Balthazar exhales noisily and passes a pistol to Dean. The weight feels right in his hands, and he checks the magazine.

“Colt M1911A1, .45 caliber, seven rounds,” Balthazar says. “Can you handle it?” Dean nods, so Balthazar passes him another one and a box of bullets.

“I need a weapon too,” Cas says as he finishes doing up his vest.

“I don’t know if I trust your aim, Master,” Balthazar replies with a small smile. He steps away from the trunk to give Charlie and Hester room to arm up.

“He’s gotta have something,” Dean says. He’ll protect Cas with everything he’s got, but if the worst should happen, Cas will have to be able to defend himself.

“Well,” Balthazar says, deliberating, and then he turns and reaches into the trunk.

Rachel passes Dean another gun, but Dean doesn’t hear the specs that she rattles off because Balthazar is pulling out what looks like a goddamn samurai sword and passing it to Cas.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Dean says.

“Uh…” Cas says, pulling the sword partly out of its sheath.

“Your aim was never true, but you were deadly with a katana,” Balthazar says.

“Yeah, in another life,” Cas says, sheathing the sword again.

“Let’s just hope you won’t have to use it,” Balthazar says, walking briskly around the side of the car toward the front.

“He’s not joking,” Cas says to Dean, uneasy.

“Fuck, just—take this,” Dean says, passing Cas the gun that Rachel had given him—it’s smaller, a Taurus, and Dean knows it’s got more rounds than the Colt he’s got. “Don’t shoot unless you’ve gotta.”

“I know,” Cas says. He fits the gun into his holster, and then they head back to the side of the car to get in.

When they’re moving again, hurtling through the trees toward the source of the smoke, Dean asks, “Cas, you really think you’re gonna use that thing?”

Cas looks down at the katana that he’s still clutching and says, “I don’t know, but I’m bringing it.”

“Castiel’s gonna go all Kill Bill on their asses,” Charlie says, grinning over her shoulder at Dean and Cas.

Dean chuckles despite himself, but Cas only says, “I… don’t know what that means.”

“Oh, boy,” Charlie says. Looking at Dean, she says, “If we live through this, we’re gonna sit him down and educate him.”

“I’ve always taken my education seriously,” Cas says, frowning.

“It’s a movie, Cas.”

“Oh. I didn’t see any televisions back at the base.”

“Well, you never came to my room,” Charlie says.

“Please just shut up,” Hester says.

“What the hell is your problem?” Charlie says, irritable.

“I don’t think those two should continue to sit next to each other,” Cas comments as Balthazar says, “We’re about to go into battle. Let’s not fight amongst ourselves.”

After a moment of quiet, Hester asks, “Sir, what is our strategy?”

“Azrael will keep the South Gate clear for us. We’ll get inside and split up. Rachel will take Charlie, and Hester, you’ll stay with me, Dean, and Master.”

“Very well.”

“We don’t know what it’ll look like when we get on the inside, so be prepared to improvise,” Balthazar says. He twists a little in his seat and meets Dean’s eyes as he says, “Hester and I will do the majority of the shooting. I expect you to protect Master at all times, but shoot sparingly. If we end up separated, you’ll need all your ammo.”

The car comes to a halt, and Rachel says, “All right, the edge of the treeline is just ahead.”

They all get out of the car, and Dean sees some people already jogging in through the South Gate, armed.

“The coast looks clear,” Hester says. “Sir?”

Balthazar’s eyes are on Cas again, and Dean resents the amount of attention Balthazar puts on Cas when protecting Cas is Dean’s responsibility, but he begrudgingly admits to himself that the more people are looking out for Cas’s best interests, the better.

“I’m ready,” Cas says. He has snapped the sheath of the samurai sword to his belt—looks like there was already a device for attaching it that he just hadn’t noticed before.

“All right, then,” Balthazar says. “Let’s move.”


	25. Chapter 25

Within the walls of the compound, the air itself feels hotter, more oppressive. It must just be Castiel’s mind playing tricks on him, but he can’t deny the fear that’s freezing up his insides.

Alarms are blaring, lights flashing from the guard towers.

A thick column of smoke rises up from the building to their right and from behind the central structure, presumably from the northern residences.

People are being evacuated from buildings, and Castiel sees some of them coming toward the South Gate, desperate. He tenses up involuntarily, but they’re dressed in regular clothing, unarmed. Not guards. No threat.

Rachel and Charlie exchange glances before pelting straight through the courtyard toward the central building, and Castiel stares after them, in shock, expecting bullets to rain down on them because they’re going in the wrong direction. Except—

The guards in the towers must’ve been taken out by Balthazar’s sniper, or by Abaddon’s soldiers when they entered the compound. Either way, Balthazar moves next, and Hester, Dean, and Castiel fall into step behind him.

There are no guards in sight as they slip into the main building, but there’s no sign of Abaddon’s people, either.

The alarms are deafening in here, as though they’re echoing off the walls, and it’s hard for Castiel to hear himself think.

“He’ll most likely be downstairs!” Rachel barks—she and Charlie apparently decided to wait just inside the doors for Balthazar to join them. “We’ll head up, just in case, but you should head down!”

Balthazar nods, and Rachel and Charlie climb up the stairs directly to the left. Then he glances in Hester’s direction, an unspoken exchange passing between them, and she turns abruptly to the right, passing through the foyer toward a narrow hall. Balthazar gestures for Dean and Castiel to go ahead, and he brings up the rear when they get moving.

At the end of the hallway is a door, already hanging open, the knob shot off.

“Fuck,” Castiel thinks he hears Dean saying, but Hester is already passing through the doorway, and Castiel follows immediately after her, wishing he could close his ears to the sound.

Then there’s gunfire, and Castiel freezes on the stairs. It’s a good thing, too, or he would have crashed straight into Hester, who has also come to a stop. A guard gets thrown into their field of vision, crashing into the stairs back first. His head lolls back at the contact and cracks against one of the concrete steps, seemingly soundlessly because of the alarms still going off.

Hester has her gun at the ready, waiting for the man’s assailant to come into sight, and Castiel draws his gun too, flipping the safety off.

God, he hopes he doesn’t have to use it.

Abaddon steps into sight then, followed by Meg, Crowley, and a man whom Castiel recognizes, but whose name he cannot recall. They’re all spattered with a great deal of blood, weapons raised until they see that the people on the steps are friends.

Abaddon starts to speak, but then she seems to recall that they won’t be able to hear a word she says, so she just shakes her head, a regretful look on her face as she starts up the stairs.

Cain must not be here.

Castiel fights back the dread that Cain isn’t in this facility at all, that they may have risked everything for nothing, and turns back around, following Balthazar and Dean back up the stairwell, through the hallway, and out into the foyer.

“They need to turn that fucking alarm off!” Dean complains, pressing a hand to his temple, eyes fiery.

“Upstairs!” Abaddon says, running past them and leading the charge upward.

As he jogs up the stairs with the others, Castiel wonders where the rest of Abaddon’s people are; they probably split up as well when they entered the compound, so presumably they’re also upstairs.

Where are they, then? He’s quite certain Abaddon had more followers with her than Balthazar had with him.

They can’t all be dead. They can’t.

On the second floor, they find that most of the doors have been broken through—some doorknobs have been shot off, other doors have been kicked in. Abaddon and her followers start doing a sweep of the rooms, but Hester ducks into the nearest room, and Castiel follows her inside. The beta observes the room for only a few seconds before stepping up to one of many keyboards and tapping in some commands, fingers flying on the keyboard.

“What’re you doing?” Castiel tries to ask, before forgetting that his voice will be lost under the noise.

Then Hester backs away from the keyboard, and it’s finally silent. But now Castiel’s ears are ringing, which really isn’t much better.

“They’ve gone up to the third floor—there’s no one here,” Balthazar says. “We need to move.”

“Sir,” Hester says sharply, drawing Balthazar’s attention, “the guards are almost done evacuating the residents. We don’t have much time.”

“Then we’d better hurry our asses up,” Dean says, darting out of the room. Castiel hurries to follow, unwilling to leave his mate’s side, and he hears Hester and Balthazar scramble after them.

At the stairs, Castiel passes by some guards who were shot dead, and he forces his eyes up and away from them, breathing deeply. He knew before coming in here that there was a very real chance of dying, but he really wasn’t prepared for this.

Fuck. Fuck, those men are  _dead_  because of this.

“We found him!”

It’s Charlie’s voice from up above, and the reminder of their mission speeds Castiel on his way, helps him get past the shock that was just settling in.

Charlie is waiting for them on the third floor landing, eyes frantic. “You were right, Castiel. He’s not budging.”

“That ungrateful son of a bitch,” Dean growls as they follow Charlie down the hall to the place where Meg, Rachel, and a few others have gathered.

“Go,” Balthazar says to them. “Secure the way out. Hester, stay in that security room—let us know when they’re coming.”

They depart as Castiel reaches the entrance to the room, and he stops short at the sight.

Cain is here, alive, but he’s bloodied, sagging, holding tightly onto two lengths of chain hanging from the wall. Abaddon is standing before him, clearly trying to reason with him. But past Abaddon, Castiel can see how Cain’s shirt is torn, blood all along the tears—tears in clothing that no doubt correspond to tears in his flesh.

The room goes completely silent when Castiel steps fully inside, followed closely by Dean and Balthazar, and Abaddon moves aside, allowing Castiel to look at Cain unimpeded.

The expression on Cain’s face when his eyes land on Castiel is so conflicted that Castiel cannot parse it.

“What are you  _doing_  here?” he says finally, voice hoarse. Before Castiel has a chance to answer, Cain’s eyes have moved away, behind Castiel, and he demands, “How could you bring her here? How could you let her—”

“They really didn’t have a choice,” Castiel says, assuming that Cain was speaking to Dean or Balthazar or both of them. “Just like you don’t have a choice. You’re coming with us. Don’t be childish.”

Cain’s lips twist wryly. “Coming from a child.”

Castiel doesn’t bother to argue, stepping over to him and grabbing onto his arm. He flinches, as though he doesn’t know whether he wants Castiel closer to him or farther away, but he allows Castiel to work his hand out of a fist, relinquishing his grip on one of the chains.

His legs tremble, though, and then he growls, snaps, and Castiel turns, sees Dean taking his other arm.

“Stop,” Castiel says, pressing one hand firmly to Cain’s chest.

It’s surprisingly easy to move Cain, to press him into the wall, and Castiel notices that his legs are trembling, his face white with pain. Dean seems to make the observation at the same time as Castiel, and he barely has time to curse— _aw, fuck_ —before Cain’s legs give out. Fortunately, Dean and Castiel are able to catch him before he hits the ground, and then Abaddon is there, helping to support his weight.

“They’re surrounding the building,” someone says, urgently.

“Go. Hold them off,” Abaddon orders, and the remaining people at the door scatter, leaving in both directions.

“Fuck. You sure you got him?” Dean asks as Abaddon starts walking, supporting Cain’s weight.

“Of course,” Abaddon snaps, half-carrying Cain out of the room.

They reach the foyer without incident and find everyone else waiting for them down there. Castiel looks at the exit, and through the glass, he sees guards gathered around outside, surrounding the building, just as Hester had said.

“Fuck. What do we do, now?” Dean asks.

“Where’s Crowley?” Abaddon asks, looking around.

“Don’t know,” Meg says, frowning. “I thought—he was with us when we went up to the third floor.”

“Who gives a damn where that douchebag is?” Dean says, frustrated. “We’re trapped in here.”

“There’s nothing more we can do. We’ve no ace up our sleeve,” Balthazar says, looking at Abaddon, and Castiel wonders whether Crowley is usually the “ace up their sleeves”, given the way Abaddon just asked for him. Balthazar finishes, “We’ll have to fight our way out.”

“Just leave me,” Cain says, sounding exhausted. “You’ll all have a better chance of making it out of here if you leave me behind.”

“We came here for you, Master. If we left without you, we’d have come for nothing,” Abaddon says.

“Why aren’t they shooting already?” Castiel asks. The men outside are certainly armed and ready, but they’re just standing there, waiting.

“The glass is bulletproof. They won’t waste ammo trying to break through it when they know we’ll have to come out eventually,” Rachel explains. “There’s most likely a concealed exit, but it’s built in a different spot for each compound, and I’ll bet they’ve got it heavily guarded at this point.”

“Well, the good thing is, those are loaded with tranqs, not bullets,” Hester reports, jerking her head toward the glass.

_Please back away from the building._

“God,” Abaddon breathes. “I don’t believe it.” 

The voice is coming across the loudspeakers, a little bit tinny, but the cadence and the accent—definitely sounds like Crowley.

_We’ve got one of the most brilliant biological minds of the world in here. She means nothing to us, and very much to you._

Outside, the guards are looking around, uncertain.

_If you don’t do exactly as we ask, we will not hesitate to take her head off._

“Is he bluffing? He’s gotta be bluffing,” Meg says.

“I don’t know,” Abaddon admits, shaking her head.

“There could potentially still be a doctor in the building that he has his hands on,” Balthazar says, frowning. “Hester, did you—”

“Didn’t see anyone, but I could have missed something,” Hester replies. “Do you want me to check the projection room?”

 _P-please do as he says_ , a female voice says next, and the guards start backing off, slowly.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Hester,” Balthazar says, hope in his eyes.

 _We are going to come out of the building_ , Crowley says.  _You will allow us to leave the compound unharmed. If you do so, we will let you have your scientist back. If not, this’ll be the last you ever hear of her, alive._

“Jesus Christ, it’s working,” Dean says.

They wait for an achingly long moment before approaching the glass, Meg and Rachel taking the lead. Castiel stands between Dean and Balthazar, behind Abaddon and Cain.

“You know, you can probably move faster than that,” Crowley says, in his real voice this time, and when Castiel glances over his shoulder, he is surprised to see that the hostage Crowley’s tugging down the stairs is none other than Dr. Naomi Manning, of 0918.

“You are a miracle worker,” Charlie says as Crowley comes toward the group.

“Don’t start groveling at my feet just yet—we’re still in danger,” Crowley says, shoving Naomi forward, gun pressed to the base of her head.

She doesn’t look afraid at all, though, more annoyed than anything else, and Castiel frowns, confused. But he saves his question for later, since Crowley is right—they  _are_  still in danger.

Crowley exits the building first, pushing Naomi ahead of him. The guards give him a wide berth, and the rest of the group emerges slowly, fanning out to surround Cain and Abaddon.

Castiel’s heart pounds fast, hard enough that it feels like it’s about to leap out of his throat. It’s difficult to breathe through the tension, thick in the air.

Dean’s presence at his side is an unbelievable comfort, despite his own obvious apprehension.

One gun fires, and everyone freezes.

No bodies drop—the shooter must have missed.

“Oh, bugger it all,” Crowley says.

“Run!” Balthazar and Abaddon shout at the same time, and the shots come flying.

Castiel feels a sharp, white-hot pain graze the outside of his upper arm and runs faster, lifting his arm in time to see a flash of red—blood.

They aren’t using tranquilizer darts, it seems.

The South Gate is up ahead, still wide open, and Castiel guesses that the closing mechanism might have jammed. Castiel passes up Abaddon and Cain and lifts his gun, spinning to try and take aim.

“Just run!” Balthazar shouts at him, even as he shoots back at their enemies.

A dart strikes Castiel’s chest, but the vest is thick enough that the tip doesn’t reach his skin. Apparently they’re using a mix of darts and real bullets, then.

He’s just about to turn and continue running when he sees Balthazar start to sway. Castiel cannot see the dart that got to him, but he races to the man immediately, lifting him and dragging him along.

“Shit—here,” Hester says, appearing at his side to help. Despite having one arm full with Balthazar, she continues to fire shots back at the guards until she runs out of bullets.

They push on, Castiel straining under Balthazar’s weight, and when he looks back, he sees that Abaddon is running free, picking off the guards one by one with deadly accuracy. Unreasonably terrified that Abaddon might have somehow abandoned Cain, Castiel searches for him and spots Dean several yards behind them, half-carrying, half-dragging him along.

Something twists in his chest at the sight, because Dean—Dean can’t have any good feelings about Cain, yet he’s carrying him out of here, saving him because Castiel wanted him saved.

The guards are catching up now, nearly upon them, but Castiel, Hester, and Balthazar are right at the gates, and Castiel had hardly noticed the others’ disappearances, but he hears engines, spots vans emerging from just beyond the treeline, and it looks like they might make it out after all.

The nearest vans come to a screeching halt, and the side doors are thrown open, Crowley in the closer van and Charlie in the farther. Hester directs them toward the closer van, and they work to haul Balthazar inside, with some help from Crowley. But then Castiel looks back, and—Dean and Cain are nowhere to be seen.

No, they’re there, only they’re on the ground, still within the compound, guards only yards away from their limp forms, and Castiel can see a dart protruding from the back of Dean’s neck.

“Dean!” Castiel shouts, already moving, but strong hands grab onto him, holding him in place just long enough for a second pair of hands to restrain him. “No! No—let me go!” he screams, kicking and thrashing even as he’s lifted and practically thrown into the vehicle.

Men come rushing out of the compound past Abaddon, who manages several more headshots before dropping out of sight. The van door slams shut, and whoever’s up front slams on the gas.

Castiel shoves his elbow back against the person behind him, and the grunt he hears is female—Hester. “We have to go back. We can’t just leave them there,” he says, his whole body shaking involuntarily.

Castiel made it out of there, but Dean.

God, Castiel wanted to save Cain, but not if he’d lose Dean.

This, this is his fault.

“Hey,” Crowley says. “Kid, it’ll be all right.”

Castiel doesn’t dignify that with a response, already feeling walls slamming up around him. He’ll get them out even if he has to go back in there all by himself.

“We’ve got Naomi, after all,” Crowley says, nodding his head toward the woman who is seated beside him, not putting up a struggle at all.

She shoots a glare at Crowley and says, “ _Not_  an appropriate use of your wife, you fucking bastard.”

Castiel can only stare.

“Castiel, they won’t be killed,” Naomi says, matter-of-fact. “Not after the escape attempt,  _and_  the rescue attempt.”

“Did you see what they did to Cain?” Castiel says, numb.

Just  _imagining_  those injuries on Dean makes him want to shrivel and die.

“I didn’t have a chance to examine him before the alarms went off and evacuation protocols took over,” Naomi says stiffly. “Abaddon shouldn’t have jumped the gun like that. Foolish. Ill-advised.”

“We’d agreed not to. She went back on her word,” Hester says.

“It was a judgment call,” Crowley says. “We’ve all made mistakes.”

“Not mistakes that landed the Master  _and_  Abaddon within a compound, and certainly not mistakes that required  _kidnapping me_  as part of the escape plan,” Naomi says, clearly angry. “Go ahead and negotiate a hostage exchange, and then sabotage it. They’ll be expecting some form of sabotage, of course, so you’d better come up with something good.”

“Don’t I always?” Crowley says. “I was the one who sent Ruby and Azazel to disable the compound’s vehicles, and look at us now. Free and clear.”

“Not the time to be gloating about your cleverness, Crowley,” Hester says distastefully, jerking her head toward Castiel.

Unsubtle. But Castiel doesn’t care what they say or do. All he knows is that he needs to get back to Dean, needs to right this wrong before it’s too late. It’s like he’s been hollowed out, an old log with the center rotted away.

He turns toward the window and watches the trees fly past, unseeing.


	26. Chapter 26

Dean wakes up flat on his back, whole body curiously numb. When he opens his eyes, he sees a smooth, gray ceiling, without any light fixtures. But it’s still bright, and casting his eyes around, Dean finds that the light is coming from a couple lamps set along the walls.

It’s only when he tries to sit up that he realizes he is strapped down.

Fuck, Cas.

_Cas_.

_Where is Cas?_

It feels like the room has suddenly gotten several degrees colder, and Dean shivers, fights back the panicked snarl that’s building up in his chest, threatening to burst out of his mouth.

“Dean, please.”

Dean’s head whips to the side, almost of its own volition, and he spots The Alpha, lying down on what looks like an operating table. Judging from the way he’s strapped in, he and Dean have the same setup going on.

God,  _Cas_. Where  _is_  he?

No. No, it’s good that Cas isn’t here. It’s good that Cas got away.

Dean takes a couple deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. As long as Cas isn’t here, Dean doesn’t care what they do to him.

“That’s better. Thank you,” The Alpha says.

“It’s hard,” Dean blurts out without really thinking about it. “I can’t—it’s—it’s like I can’t breathe, ‘cause he’s not here. ‘Cause I don’t know where he is.”

The Alpha makes a soft sound, and Dean turns his face toward him, sees him looking back with a sad smile.

“I understand, Dean,” he says. “I completely understand.”

If he means what Dean thinks he means, that means The Alpha had to feel this for all the time since The Omega’s death. Fuck, Dean can hardly imagine lasting a whole week like this, let alone years, decades, centuries.  _Fuck_.

“It was reckless to come here,” The Alpha says. “You never should have come, and you certainly should not have allowed Castiel to join you.”

“Allowed?” Dean echoes. “I don’t know what he was like in his last life, but Cas... I don’t  _allow_  him to do anything. It’s not my place to say what he can or can’t do. Hell, he wouldn’t let me order him around, anyway.”

“You should have insisted that he stay behind.”

“He’d already made up his mind,” Dean says. “My only choices were staying behind myself or going with him. Taking away Cas’s choice was never an option.”

The Alpha is silent for a long while, and then he says, “I’d rather hoped you would be less—less noble. It would’ve given me a valid reason to dislike you, to challenge your claim on Castiel.”

Dean licks his lips. He shouldn’t ask, because he doesn’t wanna know.

“Why  _haven’t_  you challenged it?”

The Alpha chuckles, and there’s a kind of sad humor in the sound, fondness and nostalgia soured by grief. “Castiel may not remember me, but I remember her as she was. If she knew nothing else, she always knew her mind. She has chosen you, and without good reason, no challenge will change her mind.”

“Good reason?” Dean says.

“Objections to your character,” The Alpha clarifies. “I noticed that Balthazar joined you on your rescue mission. He may not have shown it, but he was evaluating you the whole time. He will have been evaluating you since the moment his eyes landed on you.”

Dean tries to think back, but he doesn’t have any impression of Balthazar’s eyes ever lingering on him. Thinking of the alpha still reminds him of the hug outside the van though, and god, he’s somehow still angry about that.

Becoming an alpha has turned him into a goddamn hormonal mess.

“He doesn’t seem to like you very much,” Dean says a little while later, recalling their first encounter. Looking back over at The Alpha, he adds, “I mean, he might have been joking, but he said something along the lines of liking me better. Abaddon was offended.”

The Alpha nods, turning his head and looking up at the ceiling. “Abaddon is very protective of me. I am fortunate to have her. Balthazar is equally protective of Col—of Castiel, and it is that protectiveness that forces him to dislike me.”

“So it’s real. He doesn’t like you,” Dean says.

“Of course not. He blames me for her death,” The Alpha says, resigned, and whoa, that is definitely a detail that never made it into the stories Dean heard. The Alpha continues, quieter, “In weak moments, I blame myself, too.”

Dean considers pressing for details, but he really doesn’t think he can stomach hearing the circumstances of Cas’s death, even if it wasn’t quite Cas back then. Instead, he asks, “Why are you telling me this?”

“I can’t say,” The Alpha answers. “Perhaps I’ve sensed that my end is near. It feels good to finally air these thoughts that have been in my head for so long.”

“You think you’re gonna die?”

“It is completely possible. The people who are in charge—council members, heads of state, it doesn’t matter—they do not tolerate people who defy them, people who defy their laws, their beliefs, their institutions. I am a threat to them.”

“Well—if they were gonna kill you, why haven’t they done it already?” Dean points out. “If they wanted you dead, they wouldn’t keep you locked up here, where the others could come and try to rescue you again.”

The Alpha sighs heavily. “You’re right, of course. There is no doubt in my mind that they intend to get us out of here.”

“So basically, they’re setting up a trap. A trap that’s gonna work because Cas is a stubborn idiot who’ll probably come charging in here even if he does know it’s a trap,” Dean says.

“Oh, we sure hope so,” a female voice says from above Dean’s head, beyond his range of vision.

Dean twists, trying to see her, but it’s useless. “Who are you?” he demands.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. What matters is who  _you_  are. Not many people escape from the compounds. Yet you... Dean Winchester, you and your mate were part of the first of two escapes that we’ve had in just the past week.”

“Maybe your guards are losing their touch,” Dean says.

He gets a sound smack to the side of his head for that, and the woman snaps, “You’ll do well to keep your mouth shut.”

“The one you want is me,” The Alpha says. “Dean is just a boy.”

“He  _is_  a legal adult, you know. Though I suppose, to you, of course he’s still just a boy. After all, how old are you?” the woman says.

Dean frowns, because—dude, does she believe in the story about The Alpha and The Omega too? Or—maybe she’s just taunting him. That’s far more likely than her actually believing in the story.

“Well, enough small talk,” the woman says, finally stepping into Dean’s view. Her back is to him, though, and she is walking toward The Alpha. All Dean sees of her is that she is tall and slender with long, blond hair. And all he can scent in the air is anticipation, excitement almost.

“What do you want from us?” Dean asks.

“That’s simple,” the woman answers without turning toward him. She picks up a scalpel and examines it, rotating it left and right. “I’ve been tasked with finding out where the heart of the resistance lies. So, the sooner one or the both of you talks, the sooner you’ll get to leave this place.”

“Dirty fucking liar,” Dean says, almost instinctively. No matter what he tells this woman, she won’t release him. He’s certain of that.

“Keep quiet, Dean,” The Alpha says.

“Oh, that’s touching,” the woman says, and Dean can practically hear the evil smile in her voice. She looks over her shoulder at him and says, “I am going to enjoy cutting into you. But I’ll start with the old man here, to give you a preview of what’s coming for you.”


	27. Chapter 27

When the van comes to a stop, Castiel has no clue where they are. They certainly are not underground, though—trees surround them on all sides, and to the left of the vehicle, Castiel sees a log cabin.

He supposes it makes sense that this organization would have safe houses aboveground as well as underground.

“Why are we here?” Castiel asks.

“It’s best if we stay close to 0622,” Crowley says as he slides one of the doors open and hops out. Holding out his hand for Naomi, he adds, “Y’know, since we’re arranging a hostage exchange and all.”

Hester gets out after Naomi and reaches into the car for Balthazar, who has yet to wake. Castiel helps her get him out of the car, and then Meg is there, taking over for him.

“C’mon, Castiel,” says a female voice, and Castiel starts, turns to see Charlie approaching with a small smile. “Let’s go on inside.”

Castiel notices that the other van is parked behind them, that several people have spilled out of it, all heading toward the cabin.

“Did no one else make it out?” Castiel asks thinly. They had departed with five vehicles, yet only two are with them now.

“I’m sure Ruby and Azazel made it out, just from a different gate,” Charlie says, putting a hand on Castiel’s shoulder to steer him toward the entrance. “They probably took several people with them. I expect they’ll have returned straight to base—it’s what we’re supposed to do when we get separated.”

Castiel chews his bottom lip, anxious.  _Separated_. That’s what he and Dean are, and it is by far more painful than he’d ever anticipated, not knowing what Dean might be going through even as Castiel is led to safety.

Inside the cabin, Charlie leads Castiel into a room with a rectangular table, designed to seat eight comfortably. It seems cramped with all the people in the room, though, and Castiel takes inventory: Crowley, Naomi, and four others unfamiliar to Castiel have taken seats on either side of the table.

Two extra seats have been drawn up, one on either side, and Charlie takes one of them now. Castiel moves toward the other, but then Meg is slipping into it, directing Castiel to the seat at the head of the table. It makes him uneasy, the way all eyes are on him, waiting.

And then it occurs to him that the leaders of this organization are all unavailable. Cain and Abaddon both fell in 0622, and Balthazar is still unconscious.

But—surely these men and women don’t expect  _Castiel_  to make decisions in their masters’ absence.

Hester joins them then, but she doesn’t sit, even though there is a vacant chair at the other end of the table.

“Sit, Castiel,” Charlie urges, and Castiel hesitantly lowers himself into the chair.

“Where is Balthazar?” he asks.

“Resting,” Hester answers, standing at Castiel’s right.

“I’m sure we’re all on the same page with regards to what must be done, but we need to discuss how to go about doing it,” Naomi says.

“The hostage exchange is the obvious part,” Crowley says.

“Could we even get them to agree to that?” one of the men asks.

Castiel recalls seeing his face before, remembers that he’d been with Abaddon and Meg when he encountered them in Compound 0622, but the man’s name still escapes him.

He continues, “We’re offering just one scientist in exchange for three captives.”

“We have to believe that she’s valuable enough to them,” Meg says.

“I am,” Naomi says, but there’s nothing haughty about her tone; she sounds like she’s simply speaking the truth.

Thinking back, Castiel wonders how she could have done the things that she did to him and Dean. She forced them together, locked them up, almost got Dean _executed_ —

But if he considers the circumstances more carefully, he supposes she is not to blame. She couldn’t have known who he was, but even if she did know, she had to do what she did to maintain her cover.

“Alastair raises a good point, though,” Crowley says. “They might very well refuse to exchange all three for one, and offer only one of our captives. They could force us to choose.”

Oh, god. The thought causes Castiel’s insides to freeze.

“Well, that’s obvious. If we’re only to choose one hostage, we need the Master,” the man—Alastair—says.

Before Castiel can object, Charlie says, “We could rescue the other two while they’re distracted by the hostage exchange.”

Naomi shakes her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You failed to rescue the Master when your numbers were double what they are now. And by now, the compound will have increased security measures drastically. There is no way you’ll be able to rescue them, not purely by force.”

“Master!” a voice cries out, and Castiel jerks in his chair, startled.

“He’s here!” Hester calls.

Castiel turns in time to see a wild-eyed Balthazar rush into the room, frantic.

“You’re all right,” he breathes, taking two steps back, sagging with relief.

“I’m glad to see that you’re all right as well,” Castiel says.

Balthazar takes in the other occupants of the table, and he must see the vacant seat at the other end, yet he remains standing at Castiel’s left, counter to Hester.

“We were just discussing measures to rescue the others,” Naomi says, eyes lowered, deferential. Clearly, Balthazar commands the room.

“Others?” Balthazar echoes. And then he says, “The Master? And Abaddon? Were they both captured?” Belatedly, he adds, softer, “And Dean, too?”

“Yes to all,” Hester says.

Castiel looks around the table, eyes passing from one grim face to another, and he suddenly wants to be gone, doesn’t want to listen to this. He wants to be in action, wants to return to 0622 and give himself up, if only so that he could share a cell with Dean.

“Ah, I see,” Balthazar says. “What have you come up with so far? I’m sure we’ll be using our good doctor here, but to what extent?”

“We hadn’t had a chance to get into the specifics just yet,” Crowley says.

“Hmm,” Balthazar grunts. “And everyone else? Do we know how many we lost today?”

“We don’t know how many made it back home,” Meg says.

“But all of us here, we’re the only ones at our immediate disposal, yes?”

“Yes,” Meg confirms.

“Well. We’ll start by sorting out our priorities,” Balthazar says. “Above all else, we need to ensure that Dean emerges alive and unharmed.”

Castiel looks sharply at Balthazar, gratitude swelling in his chest.

“What—even above the Master’s safety?” an unfamiliar man scoffs.

“The Master is immortal. He can die and be reborn,” Balthazar says. “As can Abaddon. Dean does not have that security.”

“But if the Master is reborn without his memories, he’d be useless, just as The Omega is now,” the man says.

“You’ll not speak of him like that again if you value your life,” Balthazar says, tone low and steady yet all the more terrifying for it.

“It’s all right,” Castiel says, because it’s true. He  _is_  useless, and now Dean is suffering the consequences.

“I think you should all rest. It’s been a long day,” Naomi says. “Whatever course of action we choose to take, we shouldn’t carry it out until the morning.”

Castiel doesn’t want to rest, but he understands Naomi’s logic. If everyone is too tired to fight, then the struggle will be over before it even begins. After all, Balthazar only made his escape from 0622 this morning, and the people gathered around this table—with the exceptions of Charlie, Naomi, and Castiel himself—are likely the very same people who were involved in springing Balthazar from the compound.

“She’s right,” Balthazar says. “Help yourselves to the beds in the adjoining rooms. There is more living space downstairs, too. As for food—”

“I’ll prepare something,” Charlie volunteers, getting to her feet. “There’s food stocked here, right?”

“Mostly canned, I’ll bet, but yes,” Balthazar replies.

“I can make do,” Charlie says as she exits.

The others start getting up and shuffling out of the room, but Castiel can’t bring himself to move. He doesn’t think he could sleep right now, not even if he wanted to.

Balthazar lowers himself into the vacant seat Charlie left behind and reaches out, takes Castiel’s hand. “It’ll be all right, you know.”

“But I  _don’t_  know,” Castiel says, and he hates the way his voice shakes, hates his uncertainty.

“I told them that Dean would be useful for my studies,” Naomi says, closer than she was before, and Castiel sees that she has swapped seats, moving to sit on Castiel’s right. “They wouldn’t harm him.”

Castiel can’t tell whether Naomi is telling the truth, but then again, what reason would she have to lie?

“Do you really think that’s true?” Castiel asks.

“I do,” Naomi says. Her eyes flit to Balthazar, only for a moment, and she says to Castiel, “Dean is important to you. That makes him important to us. I told them before that Dean was important for my studies. It has stayed executions in the past, and I don’t doubt that it will stay his execution now.”

This makes Castiel frown. “But you couldn’t have had a chance to tell them this after he was captured,” he says. “You’ve been with us this whole time.”

“Of course, but I’d told them that before. I said that it was a shame he’d escaped, because studying his biology was proving to be quite fruitful.”

But something still doesn’t feel quite right. Why would Naomi think to plant that seed ahead of time unless she suspected that Dean would be captured? Or was it just some sort of paranoid precaution that she was taking?

“If you have a question, Master, you should ask it,” Balthazar prods.

“I don’t… know,” Castiel says, hesitant. “I don’t know if I even have a question. Just… a feeling that you aren’t giving me the whole truth.”

“As before, your instincts are infallible,” Balthazar says with a small smile. He looks at Naomi then and asks, “Shall we tell him?”

Naomi’s brow furrows. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Ah. Well, too late now,” Balthazar says, chuckling.

“Tell me what?” Castiel says.

“See?” Balthazar says to Naomi before casting fond eyes on Castiel.

“Tell me,” Castiel insists.

“I would not keep secrets from you,” Balthazar responds. He looks around, and when Castiel follows suit, he finds that the room has emptied except for the three of them.

“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” Naomi says, starting to stand.

“No, stay,” Balthazar says. “The story would be incomplete without your point of view, anyway.”

“Very well,” Naomi says, acquiescing with a nod and sinking back into her chair.

“As you know, we’ve been looking for you for some time,” Balthazar says to Castiel. “In her position, Naomi has access to all the information she needs about compound residents. Before finding you, whenever she came across someone who could potentially be compatible with The Alpha, we sent someone to check it out.”

“So that’s why Abaddon knew to come find me,” Castiel guesses. “But if you could tell just by DNA results, why would you go through the trouble of putting me with Dean? Surely you could’ve said something while I was still transitioning.”

“She did say something, to me,” Balthazar says.

Castiel looks back and forth between them, understanding dawning in him. “You _wanted_  me to be mated with someone else when Cain found me,” Castiel says, gaze coming to a rest on Balthazar. “You—you ordered Naomi to wait until Dean and I were mated before sending for Abaddon.”

Balthazar doesn’t deny it, but he doesn’t confirm it either.

“And you,” Castiel says, looking at Naomi. “I thought you served Cain.”

“Balthazar saved my life, years ago,” Naomi says. “I’m forever indebted to him, not to anyone else.”

“And Crowley?”

Naomi smiles. “What of Crowley?”

“Don’t you think he’d be angry that you thwarted his master’s chance at regaining—me?”

“He doesn’t have to know,” Naomi says. “None of them do. I never managed to notify anyone of a candidate before that candidate was mated, anyway.”

“Was that by design?”

“Not always,” Naomi says honestly. “I’m often kept by other tasks. I lead a very busy life. But with you, I must admit I knew something was different immediately—I’d never seen anyone quite like you.”

“How do you mean?” Castiel asks.

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think I can explain,” Naomi says. “Suffice it to say there is something—commanding, alluring, about you. You’re very difficult to refuse. Your influence is subtle, but very much present. I only wish I could find a scientific explanation for it.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to make of the information, so he files it away to dwell on later. “Thank you, Naomi,” he says. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a private word with Balthazar, now.”

She nods and gets to her feet, leaving them alone.

“Why?” Castiel demands. Balthazar doesn’t answer immediately, and Castiel goes on, “Why would you do that to him? Inflict that sort of pain on him?”

“You bloody well ought to know why,” Balthazar says.

Castiel opens his mouth to argue that of course he doesn’t know why, but—

Well, he does. Their shared conversation outside the car, prior to storming 0622, was answer enough.

“You died trying to protect him, Master,” Balthazar says quietly. “I thought that if you were mated to someone else, that you wouldn’t—that you wouldn’t go to such extremes.” He sighs heavily, wearily. “I should have known that changing the object of your affection wouldn’t make a difference. That stubborn selflessness in you will never change.”

Castiel doesn’t know how to feel, now that he knows Balthazar and Naomi played such an instrumental—and intentional—role in his and Dean’s mating. If they hadn’t acted as they did, would Castiel have been able to accept Cain as his mate?

Every cell in his body recoils at the notion, the mere thought that Castiel could accept anyone apart from Dean, but now, now he wonders how much of that is because of is constructed, how much of it is genuine.

Is any of it genuine at all? Does any of what’s happened between them even _count?_

“I apologize, Master, for causing you such distress,” Balthazar says.

Castiel sniffs the air and nearly chokes on the sourness of his own discomfort.

“Please believe that I did so only with your best interests at heart.”

“I know,” Castiel says. “Just—leave me. I need time to think.”

“Whatever you decide, I will stand behind you,” Balthazar says.

Castiel doesn’t answer, and Balthazar eventually leaves the room. The silence settles around Castiel in his solitude, and he sighs, wishes he’d never found out.

Not wise, indeed. Naomi is a shrewd woman.

In the end, though, it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, and there is no going back now. Castiel thinks of Dean, trapped, locked up somewhere, potentially getting the life beaten out of him, and he knows that he will stop at nothing to get his mate back.


	28. Chapter 28

Five minutes pass almost soundlessly. Dean doesn’t trust his ears, isn’t sure whether he’s imagining the squelching sounds, but he has no trouble identifying the scents in the air, the pain and distress, thick, pungent, settling on the back of his tongue.

He can only hold his breath for so long.

The Alpha lets out a low grunt, a bitten-out sound, and the woman laughs, smug. Dean pictures ripping her throat out with his teeth and bathing in the arterial spray.

There are three sharp knocks on the door, and the woman turns, one eyebrow arched delicately.

“Lilith, we need you in the conference room. Immediately,” Dean hears in a different—higher—female voice.

“Now?”

“Yes—immediately,” the woman at the door repeats.

“I’ve only just started. I told them I would not be interrupted,” Lilith says.

“It’s important.”

Lilith lets out a put-upon sigh and sets the scalpel down. “I’ll be back for you later, lovelies,” she says, and stalks past Dean’s table.

Dean holds back a sigh of relief, waiting for the door to close. The Alpha’s discomfort still sits heavily at the back of Dean’s tongue, sinking into his pores, and Dean wishes he could lend him some strength to get through this.

He doesn’t hear the door close, but there’s a thud, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor.

And then there are two pairs of footsteps, rushing into the room.

Dean would recognize that head of red hair anywhere, disheveled or not.

“Abaddon?” he says.

She doesn’t respond, bending over The Alpha, and another woman—the one who spoke from the doorway, presumably—appears at Dean’s right, undoing the strap around his wrist.

“Who are you?” Dean asks her.

“We don’t have time,” is what she says in response, moving to the straps at Dean’s ankles next.

Dean flexes his fingers and finds that they feel sluggish, clumsy. Still, he is able to undo the strap around his left wrist on his own. He fingers the band across his chest, but he cannot find the clasp.

“Patience,” the woman snaps. She returns and squats near his head, reaching beneath the table to release the binding.

Dean sits up and immediately sways, dizzy. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“Don’t get up yet. Your arm—they’ll have planted a tracking device.”

Dean blinks down at his right forearm, and sure enough, there’s a row of tiny, neat stitches running down the inside, just above his wrist. “Oh, Jesus,” he says.

“Trust me,” the woman says, lifting up a pair of surgical scissors.

“Shouldn’t you—I don’t know, be wearing gloves or something?”

The woman ignores him, snipping through the stitches carefully. “With any luck, the anesthetic hasn’t worn off completely yet,” she says.

It’s surreal, watching as she goes under his skin with a set of tweezers and pulls out a thin rectangular chip, hardly bigger than a SIM card.

“Let me close you back up,” she says.

“We haven’t got time for that, Cecily,” Abaddon snaps, and Dean sees her hauling The Alpha to his feet, quick but careful.

“The gas will have knocked out everyone in the building,” the woman, Cecily apparently, replies.

“Only this building. All we need is one person to come in here and see everyone knocked out, and the alarms will go off,” Abaddon says. “Hurry—we need to get to ground level.”

“Can you walk on your own?” Cecily asks as Dean swings his legs off the operating table.

Abaddon passes by, supporting The Alpha’s weight, and Dean notices that his abdominal region is covered in a thick layer of bandages, held there with several bands of tape. It makes Dean’s stomach turn, realizing that that layer of bandages might be the only thing holding The Alpha’s insides—well, inside.

Jesus Christ.

“I think I’m okay,” Dean says, putting weight on his legs and finding that they’re only a little shaky.

“Then come on,” Cecily urges, giving him a gentle push toward the door.

She rushes past him, and they emerge in a sterile white hallway, identical to the left and right.

“This way,” Cecily says, heading to the left.

Dean follows her down two flights of stairs, skirting guards slumped over left and right, knocked out by whatever gas Cecily was talking about. He makes sure to look back over his shoulder now and then to make sure Abaddon and The Alpha are still there.

Abaddon looks like a mess, spattered with blood, but then again, she’d already been sorta covered in blood when they ran into her earlier on, before being captured. Her left shoulder is wedged underneath The Alpha’s armpit, left arm curled around him to help him move, and Dean notices on one of his backward glances that her right forearm is bleeding freely—she must have had her tracking device cut out, too.

He wonders whether she did it herself, or if Cecily did it for her. Neither would surprise him.

“How’d you manage to gas everyone in the building?” Dean asks when they make it into a garage without running into anyone.

“Ventilation system,” Cecily says, opening up a door to one of the vehicles. “I didn’t have time to remove the tracking device on this car, but it is from a neighboring compound, so it’ll take the authorities some time to get information from the correct feed. Won’t buy you much time, but you’ll need whatever you can get.”

“Neighboring compound?” Dean asks as Cecily ushers him into the front passenger seat of the truck.

“From reinforcements,” Cecily says. She presses a walkie-talkie into his hand and says, “I’ll let you know when to drive. Do not hesitate.”

“Wait—what?” Dean sputters before realizing that she must have been talking to Abaddon.

“Good luck,” Cecily says, eyes warming for a moment when they land on Dean again. Cecily slams the door shut, and Abaddon climbs into the driver’s seat, thrusting a gun into Dean’s lap before sticking the key in the ignition.

“I think my hands are still a little clumsy,” Dean says. “Don’t know if I’ll be able to aim this thing.”

“Just in case,” Abaddon says. She looks over her shoulder at The Alpha, lying supine in the backseat, breaths shallow. Then her eyes rest on Dean. “You ready?”

“It won’t make a difference if I say no,” Dean replies, and Abaddon chuckles.

“No, it won’t,” she confirms, swiping some stray strands of hair out of her face. She inhales deeply and starts the car.

“What’re we waiting for?” Dean asks.

“Cecily,” Abaddon replies, nodding at the walkie-talkie. “Crowley trained her himself. I trust her abilities.”

Dean frowns. “You two don’t exactly seem to get along.”

“He’s a bastard, but he’s clever, and he’s effective,” Abaddon says. “When we get into shit situations like this, those are the only qualities that matter.”

“Guess so,” Dean concedes.

They’re silent for a minute, and then an alarm goes off.

“Fuck,” they curse in unison.

“Shouldn’t we get a move on?” Dean asks.

Abaddon shakes her head. “Not ‘til Cecily gives the word.”

“What if that was her getting caught?”

“It wouldn’t be. If she got caught, she’d let us know.”

“What if she got taken out before she could warn us?”

“She wouldn’t,” Abaddon says in a tone that brooks no argument.

Then the walkie-talkie crackles to life in Dean’s hand, and through it, Cecily says, “Go, now. You’re clear.”

“And you?” Abaddon says, even as the garage door starts opening and she stomps on the gas.

“Don’t worry; I’ll be at my mark before they get there. You just make it outta here in one piece, boss.”

They shoot out of the garage then, and as Abaddon floors the gas pedal, Dean reaches out, braces himself on the dash with his free hand. Guards leap out of the way as they streak between two residences, straight for the gates ahead—the  _closed_  gates.

“What the fuck, Abaddon!” Dean barks, because the gates are coming up soon, and Abaddon is showing no sign of slowing down.

No one’s even shooting at them, and Dean doesn’t blame them—this looks like a goddamn suicide attempt.

What the  _fuck_.

But then the gates begin to open, and Abaddon puts on another burst of speed, and bullets rain down on them from the guard towers on either side of the gates.

Shit, they’re going too fast.

They need to slow down. They’re gonna hit the gates before the opening is wide enough for them to get through. Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_ —

“Have some fucking faith, Dean!” Abaddon bellows at him.

Dean hadn’t even realized he was shouting.

They hit the opening, and the screeching, grating noise on either side of them is horrible, deafening, jarring—

And then they’re through, headed straight for the treeline.

Dean looks through the shattered rear windshield and sees that the gates have closed up again.

“How much of a head start do you think we have?”

“Not enough,” Abaddon says tensely. “Not with the tracking device in this car. We—we have a safe house close to 0622, but the last thing we want is to lead them straight to it. There might be a getaway car still at the safe house, but I can’t say whether there’ll be gas in it or not.”

“It’s our only bet, though, isn’t it?” Dean says. “There’s no way in hell we can go to a regular hospital just like this, and The Alpha—he needs to get looked at.”

“It’s nothing I can’t take care of. I just need time and a safe place to do it, neither of which I have right now.”

“Then we have to go to the safe house,” Dean says.

“Dean—”

“The boy’s right,” The Alpha says from the backseat, voice thin. “There’s also a—a chance that the others will have gathered there to regroup for another rescue attempt. We—need to get to them—before they—”

“I understand,” Abaddon interrupts. “Please, Master, don’t speak. Conserve your strength.”

Dean turns in his seat to get a closer look at The Alpha and sees that his jaw is clenched, eyes squeezed shut, face white with pain, or blood loss—probably both.

“Where was Cecily’s mark?” Dean asks, facing forward again. “And do you think she got there?”

“She was to go back to the operating room where we found the two of you, and pretend that I’d put her down when I knocked out Lilith,” Abaddon says. “I’m sure she made it just fine.”

“So the alarms—”

“They would’ve sounded as soon as someone stepped into the building and noticed that everyone was asleep,” Abaddon says. “Obviously, they didn’t find Cecily, or the gates never would’ve opened.”

“But there’s surveillance in all the compound buildings.”

“Looped,” Abaddon replies. “At least, that’s what I assumed. Cecily knows what she’s doing.”

“Sure sounds like it,” Dean says, impressed. “Why couldn’t she have done that when we were trying to get The Alpha out the first time around?”

“She isn’t regularly stationed at 0622; she’d barely arrived when we got there, so she didn’t know where the Master was being kept,” Abaddon says. “Besides, this required at least two able bodies on the inside. She couldn’t very well have driven the car and overridden the gate lock at the same time.”

“Right,” Dean says.

In the quiet that follows, Dean starts to feel pain in his right arm. The anesthetic has worn off completely, something that Dean confirms by wiggling his fingers and finding them as dexterous as usual. The wound isn’t bleeding hard, only leaking a little bit, but he holds his arm very still and presses his left hand to it all the same, holding the flesh together where it’s been cut open.

He can’t imagine how much pain Abaddon must be in, having to hang onto the steering wheel, jolting with the movements of the car as they cross the bumpy terrain.

And god,  _The Alpha_.

Dean has a pretty good guess at how he feels right now, the scent from before still lingering in his nose, like an echo.

They drive for about ten more minutes, and Dean watches the sky turn dark, unsure whether this’ll be good for them or bad. Then the trees start thinning out, and they eventually break out onto a small patch of land, cleared out, in front of a small cabin. Two other cars are parked out front, and Dean can’t help the bud of hope that sprouts in his chest at the possibility that Cas might be inside.

He’s out of the car before he knows what he’s doing, rushing up toward the door.

“Tell them we need to get a move on,” Abaddon says, pulling open one of the back doors to help The Alpha out. “If this car stays here, it’ll be a beacon leading the sentries straight to us.”

“Got it,” Dean says, and then he raps on the door, impatient.

It seems to take forever for the door to open, and when it does, the first thing Dean sees is the barrel of a gun. And then—

“Dean!”

_Cas_.

Cas barrels into his arms, and Dean nearly falls on his ass, backing up two steps to catch his balance.

He lowers his head, buries his nose in Cas’s hair, and it seems as though something slots into place inside him, like the world has righted itself. The scent of The Alpha’s pain finally fades, flushed out by Cas, Cas,  _Cas_.

And then Cas is backing up slightly, looking up at him in amazement. “But you were—how did you—”

“Dean!” Abaddon shouts from the car, and—

Shit, right. They need to move.

“We have to go,” Dean says. “Where are the others?”

“Is The Master safe?”

Dean looks past Cas, finally notices that Charlie is in the doorway, gun lowered now.

“He will be, if we get out of here in time. We took a car from the compound, so they could track us here,” Dean answers.

“I’ll round everyone up, then,” Charlie says.

Dean almost tastes salt on the air, and he looks down, sees that Cas is tearing up. The only thing he can think to do is kiss him, first his forehead, then his nose, and finally his lips, gentle.

Cas inhales deeply when they part and noses at Dean’s cheek. “You’re here,” he says, quiet, but Dean has no trouble hearing him despite the ruckus coming from inside the house.

“I’m here,” he answers, and Cas smiles, wide and bright.

_Thank god_.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, this chapter was written in two sittings instead of one, because I somehow managed to fall asleep in the middle of writing it, and I couldn't bring myself to post the unfinished version. So. Whoops I cheated! Won't happen again. (Probably.)
> 
> Also, warning: minor character death.

The ride back to the underground base seems to take forever.

Cas is clearly distraught at the sight of The Alpha, lying across the row of seats behind them, head pillowed on Abaddon’s thighs. Dean half-expects to scent jealousy coming from Cas, but all he gets is concern, and—god, he hates himself for doubting Cas, but he can’t seem to help it.

He looks back over his shoulder again, trying to think about something else, and sees Abaddon looking down at her master, face drawn. She touches The Alpha’s temple tenderly, carefully, and Dean wonders whether she’s in love with him, despite being mated to Bela.

But that would imply that Cas could be in love with someone else despite being mated to Dean, and that is—fuck, it’s unthinkable.

Cas’s hand finds Dean’s then, and he twines their fingers together. He offers up a small smile, even though his eyes are still tight with worry, and god, Cas may not know exactly what Dean was thinking, but he must’ve guessed at some of it. Hell, he’s trying to comfort Dean when Dean should be the one doing the comforting. He’s supposed to be Cas’s rock.

He releases Cas’s hand and drapes his arm across Cas’s shoulders instead, pulling him close. Cas leans into him gratefully, and Dean buries his nose in his mate’s hair, lets the scent calm him.

* * *

When they finally reach the base, Dean follows Abaddon and the others to what are presumably The Alpha’s quarters; he doesn’t even bother asking Cas first, because he knows Cas won’t be able to rest easy until he knows The Alpha is out of danger.

At The Alpha’s quarters, though, Abaddon stops the people who came with them, only letting Dean, Cas, and Meg stick around.

“Don’t you have a doctor here?” Cas asks a little anxiously as Abaddon puts on a pair of gloves.

A beta male Dean doesn’t recognize appears in the doorway wheeling a cart of medical supplies, and Dean and Cas have to step aside to let him through.

“I know what I’m doing,” Abaddon replies. “I’ve patched him up more times than the years you’ve been alive.”

“That’s no way to talk to my master,” Balthazar says from the doorway, and Abaddon casts an annoyed glance his way.

“I thought I told you to leave.”

“Not me specifically,” Balthazar says easily, stepping into the room after the beta male has left and shutting the door.

“You’re not being useful here,” Abaddon says, moving closer to The Alpha and starting to cut through the layers of tape holding the bandages in place.

“Neither are the rest of them,” Balthazar says, indicating Dean, Cas, and Meg.

Dean figures it’s probably for the best that Abaddon doesn’t answer—she should be focusing all her attention on The Alpha.

“Shouldn’t you give him some anesthetic?” Cas asks.

“He’s already unconscious,” Abaddon answers. “I’d rather not waste our resources if he’s not awake to feel the pain.”

The blood-soaked bandages come away, and Cas takes a half-step back, turns away. Dean’s attention zones in on him completely, and he steps between Cas and the bed, eyes on the stiffness in Cas’s shoulders.

“You okay for this?” he asks.

“I thought I could, but—I don’t want to,” Cas admits.

“That’s fine,” Dean says, herding Cas toward the door. “We’ll wait in the hall.”

Outside, Balthazar disappears for a few minutes and returns with a couple folding chairs, setting them up so that they can sit while they wait. Meg comes out with some supplies to patch up Dean’s arm where the tracker had been, but she admits that she’s no good with needle and thread.

In the end, Balthazar takes a knee by Dean’s right arm and painstakingly stitches him back together.

After that, Dean dozes off for a bit. He isn’t sure how much time passes, but eventually, Meg reemerges and tells them that The Alpha’s going to be just fine.

Cas doesn’t comment, but his relief is plain to see all the same.

“Would you like to see him?” Meg asks, but Cas just shakes his head.

“It’s enough to know he will make it through this,” Cas replies, standing up.

“Abaddon says it was never their intent to kill him,” Meg says. “Otherwise, he’d have bled out long before we could get back here.”

“The woman who did that to him—Lilith—she wanted us to give up where this place was,” Dean says.

“Of course she did,” Meg says with a sigh. “You ought to get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

“It’s been a long day for you, too,” Cas says. “If you’re tired, don’t let Abaddon keep you here.”

“I’m all right.”

“Dean’s dead on his feet,” Balthazar says, and Dean would protest, except he just doesn’t think he has the energy right now, which really only proves Balthazar’s point anyway. “I’ll take you back to your room.”

“Thank you,” Cas says. Dean lets himself be led away, an occasional light touch from Cas enough to steer him in the right direction.

At their room, Balthazar bids them a good night and leaves, and Dean topples onto the mattress without even bothering to undress. Cas tuts at him, but he crawls up onto the bed anyway, curling up against Dean.

Dean hardly manages to say good night before sleep claims him.

* * *

The next morning, Dean wakes to the sound of banging on the door.

“Fuck,” he mutters. Cas is stirring too, one eye cracking open blearily.

“Dean? Castiel? There’s something you’ve really gotta come see.”

It sounds like Charlie. “What—now? What time is it?” Dean calls back.

“A little past seven thirty,” Charlie answers. “Just—hurry, guys. It’s important.”

Dean groans, but Cas is already sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

“If it were really important, she would’ve said what it was about,” Dean grumbles.

“Just come on, Dean,” Cas says. “I trust her.”

“You not even gonna change your clothes?” Dean asks, pushing himself up to a sitting position as Cas gets up and heads toward the door.

Cas just sighs, tired, and Dean raises his hands in surrender, getting off the bed. They open the door to find Charlie looking somber, dark circles under her eyes—she apparently got just as little sleep as they did.

Without a word, she turns away and leads them down the hall.

Less than a minute later, Charlie takes them into what looks like a meeting room, with a decent-sized TV mounted on the wall. A couple people are crowded around the long table in the center of the room—Balthazar, Crowley, Pamela, Meg, Hester, Rachel, and Alastair are the ones Dean knows by name.

And there’s Naomi, standing at Crowley’s left. Cas mentioned during the drive home that she was working for them, and that she was  _married to Crowley_ , which was pretty fucking unexpected. But Dean’s getting used to being thrown for a loop, so much that these revelations hardly even phase him anymore.

Strangely, he doesn’t see Abaddon. Maybe she’s still tending to The Alpha.

All eyes are on the TV, so Dean turns his attention to it, and—

“—just joining us, we are here with the latest breaking news, live, just outside Compound 0622, where a group of extremists set fire to two residences and proceeded to shoot and kill eight security personnel while injuring seventeen others.”

“Holy crap,” Dean mutters under his breath, because when he was on the outside, he hardly ever saw anything about the compounds in the news.

“Yeah,” Charlie says.

The newscaster goes on, “This all happened in the afternoon yesterday, and while a few of the extremists were detained, they escaped late in the evening, with the help of an informant within the compound.”

Dean’s eyes shoot to Crowley, because the informant they’re talking about has to be Cecily. Abaddon had been so sure that she wouldn’t be caught, but what if she  _was?_  Shit, fuck.

“But don’t worry,” the newscaster says with a smile. “Those of you who have relatives here at 0622 can rest assured that they are safe. We are very pleased to report that due to excellent evacuation protocols, not one resident was injured in the fires, or caught in the crossfire.”

“Is that true?” Cas asks, looking around the room.

“We didn’t see any residents harmed,” Meg reports.

“They’re top priority,” Hester says. “Of course security would’ve done everything to keep them out of harm’s way. But even if someone were injured, they wouldn’t admit to that on the news.”

Meanwhile, the newscaster and cameraman have been led by two official-looking people toward the front gates and then through them. They’re escorted by a group of guards who appear now and then on the edges of the frame.

And then a heavy weight drops in Dean’s gut, because that’s—that’s—

In the center of the main square that Dean and Abaddon drove through just yesterday is a fucking _guillotine_. Guards are lined up on either side of it, and standing a little ways beyond it is Cecily, arms tied up behind her back.

Through the rushing in his ears, Dean hears the newscaster laughing nervously. “So uh—this isn’t standard in all compounds, is it?” she asks.

“No, of course not,” a middle-aged man, presumably some higher-up in the compound, answers. A banner across the bottom of the screen reads _Councilman Vega_. “But we’ve suffered great losses at this compound in the past twenty-four hours, and we must show the people that these sorts of attacks will not be tolerated. They endanger the safety of our residents, the safety of compounds as a whole. And we all know what would happen to the population, to the human race, if this system were to topple.”

“Such  _bullshit_ ,” Charlie says.

“But it is a little extreme, don’t you think? The last public execution was over three decades ago,” the newscaster says.

“And we think it is time the public was reminded of the dangers that sedition brings. Anarchy. Unrest. So much senseless, needless death. We will not allow this sort of tragedy to happen again, because next time, perhaps we will not be so lucky. Next time,” Vega pauses here, turning toward the camera, “one of your relatives could be the one who dies at the hands of an extremist.”

“I cannot fucking  _believe_  this,” Rachel says.

“Just shut up,” Crowley hisses. His eyes are tight, entire frame stiff with tension, and Dean wonders how close Cecily was to him.

“We can’t just stand here,” Dean says as Cecily, bound, is led closer to the platform on which the guillotine is set up.

The camera pans around, and Dean sees a crowd gathered beyond the guards, around the square—these must be the residents, come to see the action.

Dean wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be free, if it weren’t for that strung-up beta walking to her death. “We’ve gotta—can’t we do something?”

“She’s already dead,” Crowley says, voice heavy.

Dean looks at Crowley, looks at the screen, looks back. The resignation in Crowley’s face is like a death sentence. “She can’t be.”

“You don’t really believe they’re broadcasting this live, do you?” Hester says. “Just look at the color of the sky—the sun must’ve just started coming up over the horizon in that footage. Sunrise was half an hour ago.”

The bottom of Dean’s stomach drops out. It’s over.

“Enough,” Crowley says.

“So, are you concerned at all that the sentence was handed out without a trial?” the reporter asks.

“No, because she  _was_  given a trial,” Vega says. “As you know, compounds are under the jurisdiction of the military. She was tried by a jury of her peers—”

“Other security personnel, then?”

“Soldiers, yes,” Vega confirms. “She was found guilty of sedition, and of aiding and abetting enemies of the state, both of which are punishable by death.”

“But since this is such a public execution, and the first we’ve had in so long, shouldn’t the trial have been accessible to the public as well?”

“It is on record, and I am confident that the council will vote to release the footage for public viewing when we meet again this afternoon.”

The reporter looks off screen and then says, “Oh, it looks like the sentence is about to be read. Thank you, Councilman, for opening your doors to us and for your forthright answers.”

“You’re very welcome, Miss Davis.”

The camera focuses in on a woman behind a podium, set up farther away from the guillotine, on a higher platform.

She bends a mic so that it’s a little closer to her before reading out, “On this day, the fifteenth of April, 2015, we have asked you here to bear witness to the execution of a traitor, and to join us in mourning the men and women who gave their lives to protect the residents of this institution. So, first: a moment of silence for the fallen.”

It’s silent in the room, too, and Cas takes Dean’s hand. It’s small comfort, but Dean appreciates it all the same. Across the room, Crowley hasn’t moved an inch. Naomi stands at his side, equally still.

“Thank you,” the woman says. Then she clears her throat and says, “For the crimes of sedition, and of aiding and abetting enemies of the state, Cecily O’Brien has been tried and found guilty. As the presiding judge of the Court of Compound 0622, I hereby order her immediate execution.” Eyes turned downward, the judge asks, “Any last words?”

Silence.

“Proceed,” the judge says, and Cas’s hand squeezes tight around Dean’s.

They know the outcome already, but it somehow doesn’t relieve any of the tension in the room. Dean wants to offer to take Cas outside, wants to say that Cas doesn’t have to see this, but he can’t do it. Dean needs to see it, even though he doesn’t know what it’ll do to him, and he knows Cas won’t go without him.

On screen, Cecily sinks to her knees without resistance. Her back is straight, her chin held high, and god, she looks like she isn’t scared at all. More than that—she looks  _proud_.

Her eyes find the camera and stay there, defiant, as she slowly lowers her neck into the groove, before the executioner even prompts her to bend over.

Fuck, this is really happening. It really  _happened_.

The executioner steps over to the lever, the sound of his boots thudding against the wooden platform deafening in the otherwise silent scene playing out on screen.

Cecily’s eyes never once leave the camera, and then she opens her mouth.

“Long live The Alpha!”

A collective gasp ripples through the onlookers, in the room and on screen.

The blade drops.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone requested some Cain or Balthazar POV a little while back. I usually avoid outsider POVs except in special cases, but this fic is being written on the fly anyway, so I figured I'd try my hand at it.
> 
> Also, since we're in Cain's head, we'll see a little more of the gender pronoun thing that was first mentioned back in Chapter 21.

Cain wakes to a firm mattress, soft covers pulled up to his chin. He knows where he is without opening his eyes, and he doesn’t feel ready to open them, because he isn’t where he wants to be.

He wants to be gone from here. Wants to be dead so he doesn’t have to feel the gaping hole in his chest, doesn’t have to be reminded that it will never be filled again, not the way it used to be.

But that isn’t quite true.

What he _really_ wants is to be centuries younger, chasing Colette through a field of wildflowers, tackling her under a shady tree, and lying there together, all afternoon, just watching the clouds pass by.

The memory nearly brings tears to his eyes.

He quickly numbs himself, dulls the razor-sharp emotions and buries them down deep. Even after all these years, it doesn’t come  _easy_ , but he’s gotten better control over it. If he were alone, he thinks he could cry a little, but not in front of his followers.

Yes, there are others in the room. He hadn’t really been listening before—perhaps his ears weren’t quite so awake yet—but he can hear them speaking, can identify the voices as Balthazar and Pamela.

Inhaling slowly, deeply, he identifies a few more people who are—or were recently—in the room. Colette’s scent is the strongest, but along with it is Dean’s, Charlie’s, and, of course, Abaddon’s.

Judging from their silence, though, they may have gone, leaving Balthazar and Pamela here to keep watch over him.

“Do you really want to discuss this in front of Castiel?” Pamela is saying.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” Castiel says, and—right, of course. Not Colette’s scent, but Castiel’s. Cain has slipped up too many times, too caught up on the hope that Colette might still come back to him.

He’d grieved Colette the first time he lost her, but he’d been secure in the knowledge that he would find her again, that they would be together again.

Now, though, he knows that that will never happen.

Castiel is Colette, in so many ways, but she is not Cain’s, not anymore.

“Does that mean you disapprove?” Balthazar asks, clearly still unaware that Cain is conscious.

“Oh no, not at all,” Pamela says. “I just thought I’d ask, out of respect. Not everyone is so comfortable having their mate discussed openly in their presence.”

“So if you don’t disapprove, then you approve,” Balthazar concludes.

“I guess so. Yeah,” Pamela says, and despite everything Cain already knows about Dean, despite the fact that Dean  _is_  a good man, Cain is disappointed that he has Pamela’s approval.

“I’d still like to hear your assessment,” Balthazar prompts.

“Of course you would,” Pamela says, a note of fondness in eir tone.

Ey and Balthazar always were close. Colette’s death somehow managed to strengthen their friendship even as it drove a wedge between Cain and Balthazar.

“Dean is… noble,” Pamela says. “It’s innate. He has a strong sense of duty. He doesn’t love easy, but when he does, it’s for life. There is little he would not do for a loved one.”

“Little? So what wouldn’t he do?” Balthazar asks, ever sensitive to word choices.

“I can’t say, specifically,” Pamela says. “I’d posit that if he were asked to choose between two loved ones, he wouldn’t be able to choose.”

“He entered Compound 0918 to save his little brother the same fate,” Castiel says. “He’d stop at nothing to protect him.”

Balthazar hums. Obviously, in eir book, that’s a strike against Dean.

As Cain expects, Balthazar says, “Even if it meant putting you in harm’s way?”

“He came with me when I said we had to save Cain,” Castiel says. “I’d go with him to save Sam, even if he didn’t ask me to.”

“Yes, of course you would,” Balthazar says with an aggrieved sigh. “You’ve always made it so difficult to keep you safe.”

“What makes you think I’d start now?”

Pamela laughs. “Oh, darling, are you sure you remember nothing? I swear, you sound just like you did before.”

There’s a brief silence, and then Castiel says, “I keep getting the sense that—that you and I have—or  _had_ , I guess—a secret.”

“What kind of secret?”

“I don’t—know. I can’t remember,” Castiel says.

“I don’t think we should discuss it unless you remember on your own,” Pamela says. “You had me swear on pain of death that I would never share it with another soul, and I can’t say whether telling you now would be going back on that promise.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and perhaps Castiel thinks nothing of it, but she doesn’t know Balthazar—at least, not the way Cain does, not anymore. The fact that Balthazar has asked nothing is telling; ey is curious by nature, so it is out of character for em to not even prod a little upon hearing about a secret like this.

Ey must know this secret, or at least something about it, which is more than what Cain knows, since this is the first time he’s heard of it.

“Did Cain know?” Castiel asks next. Pamela must shake eir head, because Castiel then asks, “But what would I ask you to keep from him? I thought we were mates.”

“Mates can still keep secrets from each other,” Pamela says.

“I can’t imagine anything I’d want to keep secret from Dean.”

“Dean is not Cain,” Pamela says gently.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Castiel asks, speaking Cain’s thoughts.

“I only mean to say that they are different people. Naturally, your relationships with them will not be the same.”

“Dean is only one man,” Balthazar adds. “At one point, you and Cain commanded an army of thousands.”

“What, did that somehow factor into my need to keep secrets from him?”

But before anyone can answer, Cain hears the doorknob turning, unmistakable.

“Lunch is here!” Charlie announces a moment later. “We’re gonna have to stand and eat, though, if you want to stay here.”

Cain finally opens his eyes, taking stock of the room. Castiel occupies a chair close to his bedside. Balthazar and Pamela stand closer to the foot of Cain’s bed. Charlie and Dean are just inside the door, bearing platters of food.

“Go,” Cain says, and startled eyes all turn toward him. Well—except Pamela’s. He isn’t surprised ey figured out he wasn’t still asleep. Ey’s a psychic, after all.

“You’re awake,” Castiel says. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Cain replies. He’s in some physical pain, but it pales in comparison to the emotional toll he’s taken, acts as a distraction even, so he’ll take it. “You should go somewhere comfortable to eat.”

Castiel frowns down at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Though I’d like to speak with Pamela and Balthazar alone, if you wouldn’t mind.” Castiel nods, and Cain asks, “Also—where’s Abaddon?”

“She was up all night looking after you,” Charlie informs him. “We practically had to wrestle her to bed after breakfast this morning.”

“Let her rest, then. Balthazar can report to me in her stead.” He stops there, but when nobody moves, Cain says, “Well, go on. Have your lunch.”

“Should I have something sent down for you?” Charlie asks. “Abaddon says you’re gonna have to go light for a couple meals, but you should eat.”

“In a couple hours, perhaps,” Cain says. “I have no appetite right now.”

“Gotcha,” Charlie says, and then he turns and leaves the room. Dean is the next to go, and Castiel lingers for a moment before getting to her feet and exiting the room, too. Pamela goes to the door to push it closed.

“How long have you been awake?” Balthazar asks. Turning accusing eyes on Pamela, ey adds, “And how long have you known he was awake?”

“It wasn’t long,” Pamela says. “He overheard quite a bit, though.” Returning to Cain’s bedside, ey says, “I know it hurt you to hear what you did about Dean, but you had to hear it.”

“I already knew what you said,” Cain says.

“Then maybe you needed to hear me say it,” Pamela says.

“I have no intention of splitting them up,” Cain says. “With your abilities, I would have thought you’d be able to tell that.”

Pamela smiles, a look of satisfaction on eir face as ey turns toward Balthazar. “See? I told you.”

Balthazar says nothing, but Cain is not surprised that ey needed confirmation of Cain’s intentions. Balthazar has not trusted him in centuries.

“Now, about that secret,” Cain says. “And Balthazar, don’t bother denying it. I know that you know something about it, if not the whole secret. I don’t expect the two of you to break your promise to Colette by telling me, but if it is to remain secret, I want you never to involve Castiel in it again. She’s so young, and she’s started over. She doesn’t need the lies and secrets from her past life to extend into this one.”

“To be fair, she was the one who brought it up,” Pamela says. “But I’m of the same mind. I never intended for her secret to see the light.”

“Yet you told Balthazar.”

“I didn’t exactly—” Pamela stops, sighs. “I assumed ey knew already. Colette told em  _everything_. How was I to know that this was secret from even em?”

It burns Cain to know that Colette didn’t tell  _him_  everything. He’d always assumed that she told him everything, because he certainly kept no secrets from her. Having that illusion ripped away is more painful than he would care to admit.

“Did you still want me to report to you?” Balthazar asks after a moment of silence.

“Yes,” Cain says.

“They executed Cecily,” Balthazar says. “Broadcast it on live TV. Or—as live as it gets, for them. We think at least one person at the network is sympathetic to our cause, because they didn’t edit out her last words.”

“Which were?”

“Long live The Alpha.”

Cain exhales slowly. Another soldier down. “I assume they regurgitated their usual message about protecting the people from violence and anarchy.”

“Yes,” Balthazar says. “They didn’t mention Naomi’s kidnapping.”

“Because it would make it look like they’re not in control of the situation,” Cain says.

“That’s what we all agreed on, too,” Balthazar says.

“Any other casualties?”

“My group made it out safely. I don’t know all of Abaddon’s followers by name. You’ll have to ask her for that.”

“I will.”

Another pause, and then Balthazar asks, “What do you intend to do next, now that Master has been found?”

“I’m not sure,” Cain admits. “I’ll take some time to think it over. And we need the people top side to tell us what sort of impact Cecily’s execution had on public opinion. It’ll affect the timing of whatever course of action we decide to take next.”

Balthazar nods. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to rest, now.”

“You may go,” Cain says.

Balthazar leaves the room, but Pamela stays, taking the chair that Castiel vacated, and Cain closes his eyes, wishing he could escape this conversation somehow.

“Cain, darling, you won’t be rid of me so easily,” ey says with a sad smile. “I’m sure you know what this is about.”

“My death wish,” Cain says. “I realize that it got someone else killed. I won’t do it again. Isn’t that enough?”

“You’ve never been suicidal before.”

“I always had hope, before.”

“I can’t argue with you there,” Pamela says. A beat later, ey says, “I know this will only be small comfort, but for what it’s worth, Castiel does still care for you. On some level, she probably still loves you, even.”

“But she’ll never come back to me. She won’t choose me over Dean.”

“I’m sorry, hon,” Pamela says sympathetically, reaching out and resting a hand over his.

Cain closes his eyes and focuses on the points of contact between his hand and eirs, focuses on the sharp pain in his abdomen, anything to keep his mind off the aching emptiness inside him.

Despite it all, his shoulders begin to shake with silent sobs.

Part of Cain wants to stop, or to dismiss Pamela so that no one will be here to witness his weakness. But he’s been so isolated for so long, and now that he he knows his future will be just as solitary, he can’t bring himself to turn away this small bit of warmth that’s been offered to him.

So he cries, and through it all, Pamela sits in silence, holding his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd add the actual pronouns here, in case anyone's interested.
> 
> Alpha: he/him/his/his/himself  
> Beta: ey/em/eir/eirs/emself  
> Omega: she/her/her/hers/herself


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of 09/18, here's another chapter for you guys (shh it's still the 18th in California).
> 
> If you've been reading on my blog, though, this isn't anything new. Sorry! I'll try to sit down for a session later tonight, but I'm not feeling particularly inspired x.x

After lunch, Castiel excuses himself and Dean from the others. They need to be led back to their quarters, of course, but as soon as they’re back in their room, Castiel asks that they be left alone. Charlie seems reluctant, but she obeys, and Castiel feels relieved when the door is closed and he and Dean are alone together.

“You okay, Cas?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Castiel admits, sitting on the bed with a huff and hiding his face in his hands.

“A lot of shit has happened,” Dean says, and there’s a dip in the bed when he sits down beside Castiel. Dean’s hand lands between Castiel’s shoulder blades, warm and reassuring. “If you were completely okay, there’d be something wrong with you.”

Castiel exhales. “I just…” he cuts himself off with a sigh. “Never mind.”

“Hey, Cas, talk to me,” Dean coaxes.

“What is your opinion of Balthazar?”

Dean huffs. “I don’t want to like him, but he looks out for you. I guess he’s all right.”

“There’s something I need to tell you, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“What’s it about?” Dean asks cautiously. “Why do you have to tell me?”

“It has to do with Balthazar. It’s just—you and me, I never want us to have secrets,” Castiel says.

He kept a secret from Cain in his past life, and maybe he doesn’t remember what it was anymore, but he knows he doesn’t ever want something like that to come between him and Dean. Full disclosure is the only way to go.

Even if it hurts.

“Okay,” Dean says slowly. “I’ve got no secrets from you, Cas.”

Castiel knows this already, but hearing confirmation makes the knot in his chest loosen a little. “I know, Dean,” he says, lifting his head to meet his mate’s eyes. The warmth in them gives him strength, gives him hope that they’ll make it through this.

“So tell me about Balthazar,” Dean says, and Castiel can see his apprehension, can scent it in the air between them, yet Dean is asking anyway. Castiel loves him so much.

“He and Naomi—they suspected my identity based on DNA, but they orchestrated our mating anyway,” Castiel says.

“What do you mean? I thought Naomi was one of The Alpha’s minions.”

“Apparently not,” Castiel says. “Balthazar and Naomi admitted to it when we were at the safe house, but I didn’t want anyone else overhearing on our way home.”

“So you mean—they sabotaged The Alpha,” Dean concludes, and Castiel nods. “But why?”

Castiel is perplexed. “Does that matter? They orchestrated our mating, Dean.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean says, and now there’s a little furrow in his brow. “Cas, we knew that already. You don’t have to remind me.”

“They consciously made the decision to push us together, despite having suspicions of who I was,” Castiel says. “Maybe that was why Naomi was so insistent on our coupling, so soon after we were first placed together.”

“Maybe,” Dean allows. After a pause, he says, “Cas, I don’t get why it matters that they were the ones to make that call. No matter who was pulling the strings, you and I, we were forced together.”

Castiel flinches at the word, gaze dropping to the ground, and Dean hesitates, apparently sensing his misstep.

“Sorry. That didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.”

“Forced,” Castiel repeats quietly. “Is that what you think this is?”

“Hey. Cas, look at me,” Dean says.

“No. We were in a horrible situation, but I still made my own decisions,” Castiel says, getting to his feet and taking a few steps away because he needs space, needs room to breathe.

“Cas—”

“That first time, did I—was that  _forced?_  Did I  _force_  you?”

“Cas, you can’t just—we were under duress,” Dean says. “Hell, you said they were considering executing me, remember? Neither of us had any real choice.”

Castiel’s eyes are prickling, but when Dean’s hands land on his shoulders, he jerks away, against the instincts that are urging him to go to Dean, to curl up and breathe in his mate’s scent.

Those instincts aren’t even fucking  _his_.

“Cas,” Dean says, soft.

“I  _chose_  to do what I did. I chose that first time, and the time after that, and the time here, too,” Castiel bites out, hands clenched into fists. “You could have—you should have stopped me if you didn’t want me.”

Dean steps in front of him, takes his hand, and Castiel hates that he isn’t strong enough to pull away again. “I did want you,” Dean says. “Cas, it’s not as simple as you’re making it. No matter what you think you chose—”

“But it  _is_  simple,” Castiel interrupts. “If one party doesn’t want the sex, then it’s rape.”

“Cas, you didn’t  _rape_  me,” Dean says, dipping his head to catch Castiel’s gaze. Castiel hates himself a little for being unable to resist looking back. “If anyone did, it’s the fucking system, okay?”

“I wanted it. You didn’t. It’s that simple,” Castiel says, because he can’t seem to forget what the word sounded like, coming out of Dean’s mouth.

He’d had to coax his alpha to him, but he’d thought—he’d thought that surely he wasn’t  _forcing_  Dean to do anything.

“It  _isn’t_  that simple,” Dean insists, and when his fingers come up to cup Castiel’s cheek, Castiel clenches his jaw, tips his head down to avoid Dean’s eyes. “You are not guilty of anything, Cas. Whether you think you chose this or not, this wasn’t your fault. Don’t you dare blame yourself for the situation we were put in.”

Castiel pushes himself away from Dean and sits back down on the bed.

“I told you I’ve got no secrets from you, Cas. I meant it,” Dean says. “Means I’m not lying to you now, either.” When Castiel says nothing, Dean sighs explosively. “What’s the matter? You were fine about this before.”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Castiel says, shaking his head. “It’s not like we’ve had any time to talk about it. I’m just—it matters that you didn’t want it.”

“Of course it matters. I wasn’t arguing with you there,” Dean says gently, and then he’s on his knees, filling Castiel’s quickly blurring field of vision. “Hey, kiddo,” he says with a tentative smile, thumb coming up to wipe away a tear that’s escaped Castiel’s right eye.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry,” Castiel says, leaning forward and burying his face in Dean’s shoulder, pulling Dean closer for a hug.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” Dean replies. “I didn’t mean you forced yourself on me, all right? I just meant that we were locked up in that cell together. We were put into the system, and we didn’t choose that. In that context, wanting each other or not, we were forced to be there.”

“Is it horrible that some part of me is grateful for it?” Castiel whispers into the fabric of Dean’s shirt, unsure whether Dean can even hear him.

“No,” Dean answers, and the firmness of his reply, the lack of hesitation, is a relief.

“I’m scared,” Castiel blurts out. “I’m scared that my feelings for you aren’t real. I’m scared your feelings for me aren’t real. I’m scared of losing you again.”

“Again?” Dean says, but Castiel just goes on—

“I’m not used to being so scared all the time, and I hate it.” He pauses for breath and adds, “And yes, again. I thought I’d lost you when we were separated at Compound 0622. It was the worst thing I’d ever felt.”

“I felt it too, when I woke up there without you,” Dean says, and it’s a confession, small and quiet and ashamed. But it’s also an affirmation, confirmation that this isn’t one-sided, and Castiel holds on tighter.

“I thought about whether I would’ve been able to go back to Cain, when I first learned that Naomi and Balthazar orchestrated our mating intentionally,” Castiel admits.

Dean stills in his arms, hand freezing where it’d been rubbing Castiel’s back. “This part of your whole ’not keeping secrets’ deal?”

“Yes.”

“I wish you’d kept that one to yourself,” Dean says.

“If it helps, the possibility was unthinkable. I only wanted you.”

“It helps,” Dean says, but he doesn’t relax. “Cas, they—they really fucked me up,” he says at length. “You probably shouldn’t tell me things that might make me possessive. It makes me—it makes me murderous enough that I scare myself.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says. Then he goes on, “I had a secret that I kept from Cain, in my past life. I can’t remember it anymore, but Balthazar and Pamela both knew.”

“I’m sure you had good reason.”

The words are calm, but Dean is still carrying himself stiffly, so Castiel shifts in his arms, slips off the bed, and pushes Dean back onto his heels so he can straddle his lap.

“I want you to know that I will never keep secrets from you,” Castiel vows, nosing at Dean’s cheek, jaw, chin. “If you ever think I have secrets, ask. Or remind me that I promised to tell you everything.”

Dean pulls away slightly, but only to lean back in and kiss Castiel’s lips. “I’ll remember that,” he murmurs. After a pause, he asks, “Are we okay here, Cas?”

Castiel holds back a sigh. “I’m not sure,” he says.

Dean kisses him again. “I wanted that,” he says, and immediately goes in for another kiss. “And that.”

Another kiss, this one longer, wetter.

Dean’s a little out of breath for the next, “And that.”

Castiel thinks he understands Dean’s reasoning. In his mind, the sex was non-consensual because they were essentially coerced into it. Castiel’s desire for it was irrelevant because of the situation they were in.

Now, though, they’re free—relatively—so they can make their own choices.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Dean says, smiling. “All this stress has gotta be bad for the baby. I oughta distract you, make you quit worrying.”

“I don’t think I can quit worrying, but I’d love to be distracted,” Castiel says, and smiles into the next kiss.


	32. Chapter 32

A makeout session turns out to be exactly what Cas needed to calm down, and Dean is glad for it. It calms Dean down too, because one of Cas’s last admissions made him want to rip The Alpha into pieces, made him want to go straight to The Alpha’s quarters and pull every stitch right back out of him.

There’s still some anger even now, simmering beneath the surface, but Dean scents Cas again, holds him tight, and it helps. They’ve shifted so that Dean’s leaning against the side of the bed now, Cas still in his lap. Dean only wishes that cradling Cas in his arms, sheltering him like this, could shield him from the bad thoughts, bad memories.

Being unable to protect his mate makes him feel weak, impotent. If there were a way to kill a thought, Dean would be doing it right now. But there isn’t, so Dean settles for the next best thing: another distraction.

“Y’know, you never actually told me why Balthazar and Naomi did what they did,” he points out.

“I didn’t?”

“You seemed to think their motivations wouldn’t matter to me,” Dean says. Cas doesn’t answer, so Dean says, “When The Alpha and I were taken, we were put in the same room. I uh, I had a chance to talk to him.”

Cas uncurls a little, pulling back enough to meet Dean’s eyes. “What did you talk about?”

“What do you think? You, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Cas agrees. “But what about me?”

“He’s hurting,” Dean says, and the words feel like they scrape at his throat as they come out. The last thing he wants is to make Cas sympathetic toward Dean’s rival, but he’s a hundred percent with Cas as far as secrets go. They’ve gotta be straight with each other, or this will never work out.

“I know that,” Cas says, and he sounds apologetic.

“It’s not your fault,” Dean says, and Cas flashes a smile at him, leans up for a quick peck.

“I know it isn’t,” he says. “But it feels like it is.”

“He said that he wants you, but he doesn’t feel like he has the right to challenge me for you.”

That puts a small, fond smile on Cas’s face, and god, Dean hates it.

“Cain has always been a noble man,” Cas comments.

Dean resists the urge to crush Cas to his chest and resolves to push on. “He uh, he said that Balthazar blames him for you dying.” Cas tenses up in Dean’s arms, and Dean says, “I think it makes sense. I mean, you’ve seen the way he looks at The Alpha. We’ve both heard what he’s said about him.”

“I know,” Cas says, voice small. “He shouldn’t have put the blame on Cain. He should’ve blamed me, but I was his master, and I was dead so he blamed the only person he could. I don’t think it helped that Cain blamed Balthazar.”

“So you—you know what happened?” Dean asks, terrified of the answer. He doesn’t want to know how Cas died, even though it wasn’t  _really_  Cas.

“I don’t know the specifics, but… well, I talked to Balthazar before we went in to 0622.”

“When he hugged you,” Dean says, and behind Cas’s back, his hands clench into fists.

“Yes,” Cas confirms. “I wanted him to promise to—to save you, if he had a choice between me and you.”

“Cas, what the  _fuck_.”

“Think about it logically. If I died, I would come back, but you—”

“If you died, I don’t think I’d live long by myself.”

“Dean, don’t say that,” Cas says, pained.

“You mean everything to me,” Dean says, dipping his head down slightly to make sure Cas can’t escape his gaze. “Losing you would kill me.”

Cas nods minutely and coughs out a small laugh, and Dean hates to add to the things that scare him, but he needs to make sure Cas is on the same page.

“Guess I’d better take care of myself, then,” Cas says, and Dean has to kiss him again.

“Yeah, you’d better.”

“The point I wanted to make,” Cas says, pausing to clear his throat, “was that Balthazar refused. His exact words were, ‘never again.’”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Cas says. “I don’t think I want to know the specifics, but I’m sure Balthazar was put in a position to save only one of us, and because of his loyalty to me, he had to save Cain.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean breathes.

“That was his motivation for sabotaging Cain’s chance to be with me in this life,” Cas goes on. “He thought that if I mated someone else, I wouldn’t make that sort of request again.”

“But then you went and did it anyway.”

“Because I love you,” Cas says, and Dean will never be over the easy way those three words just come out of Cas’s mouth, like it costs him nothing to say them.

Dean kisses him, because he doesn’t think he can say it back, just like that. Cas said he was scared, but he can’t be half as scared as Dean is, if he’s able to say the L word so easily. Dean is terrified of those three words, because what if it turns out that this bond between them really is just chemicals? What if it isn’t real at all?

He can’t trust how he feels, not the way Cas apparently does.

There’s a rap on the door then, and Dean pulls back from Cas with a regretful sigh, pressing their foreheads together.

“I don’t think it’s even been an hour yet,” Cas grumbles.

“Guys, I know you didn’t want to be bothered, but this is important.”

“ _Everything_  is important,” Cas grouses, but he gets off Dean’s lap, and straightens his shirt where Dean bunched up the fabric.

Dean gets to his feet too, and there’s gonna be no mistaking that they were just macking on each other, because Cas’s lips are reddened and kiss-swollen and perfect.

Charlie at least looks apologetic when Dean opens the door. “C’mon. The powers that be are putting on another broadcast.”

“Not another beheading,” Dean says, gut clenching with fear. “No one else helped us, right? No one else that they know of?”

“It’s not that,” Charlie says, leading the way down the hall. “I don’t think you’re gonna like it much better, though.”

“Joy,” Dean says.

They reach the room with the TV a little while later, the one they’d been in just this morning for Cecily’s—for Cecily.

It’s the same reporter as before, outdoors, the sky stunningly blue in the background. This time she’s with three people—a man and a woman, and presumably their child. Cas stops abruptly just inside the door, and before Dean turns to ask him what’s wrong, his brain processes the heading toward the bottom of the image on screen:  _Extremists Suspected in Kidnappings from Compound 0918_.

In smaller print:  _Family of Castiel Milton, one of the victims_.

“Fuck,” Dean says.

“I know. They’re sons of bitches,” Charlie says.

She moves away from them, and Dean sees her take her place next to Tessa, pulling her close.

“Our Castiel is a good boy,” the woman, presumably Cas’s adoptive mother, says. “I can’t imagine why anyone would do such a thing.”

“Well, they killed guards at Compound 0622,” someone says off screen, and the camera zooms out a little, shows a man standing on the other side of the family.

“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Roman,” the reporter says, looking slightly off-put by the interruption. Across the bottom of the screen, the banner is replaced with _Chairman of the Council, Dick Roman_.

“We understand that these extremists must be frustrated with the system. This is their way of striking out. There are rebels in every generation,” Roman says. “We only hope that these people see the hurt they’re causing and let their innocent victims go.”

God, the little boy has tears in his eyes. That’s Sammy, Cas’s Sammy.

Cas’s grip on Dean’s hand is vice-like.

“Sources say that Charlie Bradbury, Tessa McKinnon, Castiel Milton, and Dean Winchester were kidnapped days ago,” the reporter says. “Why have you only brought this to our attention now?”

Because they’re manipulative sons of bitches, that’s why.

“Well, we’d thought—hoped, rather—that it was an isolated incident,” Roman says. “After the attacks on Compound 0622, we have to believe that these incidents are linked, and that the extremists will strike again. We cannot know which compound they’ll strike next, or how many people they will take.”

“Do you think compound security is to blame, then? Is there a fault that these extremists have learned to exploit?”

“Of course they’re to blame,” the man—Cas’s dad—says. “If they had better security, these people wouldn’t have been able to take our son.”

“On behalf of the organization, I apologize, Mr. Milton,” Roman says. “In these trying times, it is only natural to lay blame at our feet. We are conducting investigations to determine the weaknesses in our security systems.” Looking into the camera, he says, “We are doing our utmost to ensure the safety of other residents, to put your minds at ease.”

“Why the fuck are they doing this?” Dean says.

“I’m sure you are,” the reporter says. “Now, we’ve come to the last family here with us today. John, Mary, Sam, thank you for joining us in this difficult time.”

“They want us to know that they’ve got access to your families,” someone answers Dean, but it’s not important anymore because the camera pans over, leaving Roman and the Miltons behind, and shitfuck, that’s Mom and Dad and Sammy, standing together, the perfect picture of a concerned family.

Except for Sam, who looks downright mutinous.

“Thank you for inviting us here,” Mary says. She’s always been the diplomatic one in the family. “Our Dean was a hard worker, a good man with a gentle heart. Just like the rest of the victims, he didn’t deserve kidnapping. To the kidnappers, if any of you are watching, you aren’t helping your cause by doing this. Think about the families that you’re hurting.”

“Mom, stop it,” Sam says, and the reporter looks over at him, curious.

“Do you have a message for the kidnappers too, Sam?”

“No. I’ve got a message for you, and for anyone else who’s watching.”

Dean wishes he could reach through the screen and clamp his brother’s mouth shut.

“My brother is nobody’s  _victim_ ,” Sam spits, like the word is an insult.

“Fuck,” one of the attendees in the room says, but Dean can’t take his eyes off the screen long enough to figure out who it is.

“If he left, it was ‘cause he wanted to,” Sam says.

“ _Sam_ ,” Mom hisses.

Dean wonders how the cameras are still rolling. These things aren’t done live, right? How would this footage ever be approved?

“What are you saying, Sam?” the reporter asks.

Sam looks defiantly into the camera and says, “Fuck you. Fuck all o’ you who set this up, and all o’ you who believe it’s true. This is exploitative and fucked up and my brother is missing, and all you want is another platform to air your lies and fuck over people who’re fighting for freedom.”

Mom goes to cover his mouth, too late. Dad has disappeared from the frame, and it sounds like there might be a struggle going on, and Sam wrestles himself away from Mom. The camera follows him, panning away from the reporter to keep him on screen.

“Stop rolling!” someone is shouting. “Cut the feed!” someone else demands, and the camera shakes violently, but the video keeps coming through, the sky and earth rolling crazily. It’s being thrown, Dean realizes.

And then the camera jolts to a halt, and Sam’s face looms into view, filling up the screen.

Sam’s holding the fucking camera. What the fuck is he  _doing?_

“Run for it, Sam!” Dean can hear Dad shouting above the cacophony, and the camera starts bouncing a little, Sam’s face moving up and down shakily.

Dean’s heart races like  _he’s_  the one running.

“Do you think they’ll chop my head off for this?” Sam pants as he runs, a taunting grin stretching his lips, and Jesus Christ on a fucking cracker, why the fuck would he  _say_  that?

“Boy’s got balls,” someone in the room comments, but they sound far away.

“I’m coming to you, Dean,” Sam says, out of breath, and he must turn around, because the background of the shot changes. “Long live The Alpha!” he shouts, and then the world starts spinning again.

There’s a clatter as the camera lands on the ground, on its side, and sideways on screen, Sam disappears into the trees, four men chasing after him. The camera gets picked up, shaking as it’s lifted, and then the screen goes black.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been sitting on this one for almost two months now. I kept meaning to do a quick reread and then post it, but I kept remembering when I didn't have access to my laptop and forgetting when I was on my laptop. Sorry!

The broadcast ends, and shocked silence falls over the room. The black screen gives way to static, but Castiel only has eyes for Dean, a pang in his chest at the blank look on his mate’s face.

“What on earth were you  _thinking?_  Were you even thinking at all?” Crowley hisses, and the words seem to draw Dean out of his thoughts, eyes flitting over to Crowley. Castiel follows his gaze and sees that the words are directed to a thin, fair-haired woman.

“Lay off, Crowley,” Meg says.

Crowley doesn’t pay any attention to her, though, stepping closer to the woman—Ruby, Castiel is pretty sure. “You were supposed to  _watch_. I never said you could make contact.”

“He noticed that I’d been keeping an eye on them and confronted me,” Ruby says defensively. “I wasn’t about to lie to him, so I just told him the truth.”

“Which was?” Dean says abruptly, and all eyes in the room fall on him.

His angry stare could kill a man.

“Chemically induced or not, you were mated to someone who was potentially The Omega,” Ruby says. “Of course we had to assess whether you were a threat to him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, pushing past people to get to Crowley.

Castiel just follows, doesn’t even try to stop him.

"Now, Dean—” Crowley starts.

“You put  _my family_  under  _surveillance?_ ”

“It was protocol,” Crowley says, but the way he quails in the face of Dean’s fury is immensely satisfying.

“What have you been telling him?” Dean demands, turning toward Ruby.

“Look, it’s not against the rules to be talking to civilians,” she says defensively. “We’ve converted people to our cause that way.” Eyes flitting around the room, she adds, “Charlie learned about us by word of mouth, right?”

“There is a  _reason_  why we don’t talk to children, Ruby,” Crowley says, jerking his head toward the static on screen.

“Fuck. Fuck, I’ll give you both a thrashing later,” Dean says venomously. “Right now, we gotta do something about Sam. And don’t you fucking dare say that there’s nothing we can do.”

When no one speaks up, Castiel says, “Don’t you have rules about this sort of thing?”

“It’s unprecedented,” Naomi says. “We’ve never had something this public.”

Castiel looks around the room, taking stock of the occupants—Crowley, Naomi, Meg, and Ruby are there, as well as Tessa and Charlie, and two men whose names Castiel thinks are Alastair and Azazel, though he doesn’t know which is which.

“Where is Balthazar?” Castiel says. “Summon him for me.”

Eyes flick to Crowley, and Castiel realizes belatedly that Crowley must be highest in the chain of command in this room; none of Balthazar’s followers are here, and these people clearly don’t see Castiel as their leader. Castiel is startled at how disappointing this realization is to him.

"Oh, for god’s sake,” Charlie says, and trots past Castiel, out of the room.

“Crowley, you must have ideas,” Naomi says.

“You’re so clever. Why don’t you come up with your own ideas?”

“You know I’ve never been involved on the outside. I don’t know what information is available,” Naomi says shortly. “Now make yourself useful.”

Crowley sighs and turns to Ruby. “You gave him a rendezvous point in case he ever wanted to find you, I assume.”

“Yes,” Ruby admits.

“Fine. Go there and wait for him.”

“I want to go with her,” Dean says.

"No. We can’t risk you getting captured again,” Naomi says. “We have already lost too much trying to rescue people from the system. Castiel would stop at nothing to get you back out; that much is clear. Ruby, go ahead.”

Ruby nods and stalks from the room, brisk.

“She might need backup,” Crowley says. “Azazel, Alastair, go with her.”

“What if Sam can’t get away from the people chasing him? We need to go to him,” Dean says as the men leave the room, the door banging shut behind them.

“If he really couldn’t elude them, us leaving now won’t do him any good—they’ll have captured him already by now,” Crowley says.

“What, so we’re just going to sit back and do  _nothing?_ ”

“I don’t think you realize the gravity of coming and going so often,” Crowley says heatedly. “Before our departure from 0918, there hadn’t been missions for—months. Years, maybe. Regular trips to the surface for extractions increase the risk that the authorities will find this place, and god knows what they’ll do to us when they do.”

In the silence that follows Crowley’s tirade, Castiel wonders whether Crowley was still the one who managed extractions during his tenure in compound security. After all, Abaddon had been in the system herself, as had Balthazar.

Then again, Cain was free to roam as he pleased. Of course he would have led the missions himself. He was never the sort to sit back while his followers did the work for him.

Tentatively, Tessa asks, “What do you think will happen to our families after this?”

“If they choose their words carefully, they should be fine,” Naomi says. Eyes landing on Castiel and then Dean, she adds, “I’m afraid I can’t say the same for Dean’s family.”

“Fuck. What’ll they do to my parents?”

“Your parents will be imprisoned,” Naomi says. “The council thinks that you’re very important to us. As long as your parents are still alive and in their grasp, they’ll have leverage over you.”

“Fucking Sam,” Dean mutters, and Castiel takes his hand, hoping to soothe the anger and worry at least a little.

The door opens then, and Balthazar steps in, followed closely by Abaddon, Pamela, and Charlie.

“Charlie filled us in on the way over,” Balthazar says, looking around the room. “You sent people to the rendezvous point?”

Crowley nods.

“Any news on the parents? Has the broadcast resumed?” Balthazar asks.

A quick glance at the screen, still showing only static, is answer enough.

“Why haven’t they turned it back on?” Castiel asks, curious. “Shouldn’t they be trying to salvage the situation?”

“Maybe they did turn it back on,” Crowley says. “Charlie, could this just be our connection?”

She shakes her head. “No,” she replies. “Our receiver can’t be tampered with; I made sure of it. And they couldn’t have cut off our connection specifically. We’re only set up to receive, so we don’t have a signal for them to track. Whatever the problem is, it’s on their side.”

“The problem is that they’re terrified,” Abaddon says. “We’ve got them on their toes.”

“Yes,” Balthazar agrees. “First Cecily’s final words at the execution, and now Sam’s escape. We have a friend in the media, and the powers that be need to root him out before they do another story.”

“This was your doing, I take it?” Abaddon says, casting questioning eyes to Charlie.

She only shrugs. “I have a friend at the network—the one who’s been telling me when to turn on the news. But I don’t think he’s got the permissions to do what needs to be done to keep the broadcast on air.”

"Regardless, you should tell him to be careful,” Abaddon says.

“He knows that already,” Charlie says.

"Well, this helps us,” Crowley says. “Going off air like this is incriminating, could turn public opinion in our favor.”

“I don’t think we ought to be worrying about public opinion when families are in danger,” Balthazar says.

“It’s only one family in immediate danger. All families everywhere are in danger,” Crowley says. “This isn’t about individual families. We need to play the long game. The Master has what he wants now, and we can finally move on. There is no better time to move than now.”

"I don’t give a damn about your long game,” Dean says. “That was my kid brother out there, putting his life on the line to further your fucking cause, and you don’t even care enough to try to help him.”

“I just sent three of my best soldiers to meet him,” Crowley says. “What more do you want?”

“How about some compassion?” Castiel says. Going on instinct, he adds, “Just because you’ve lost your family doesn’t mean everyone else has to lose their families, too.”

Crowley’s eyes tighten, and Castiel almost feels guilty for being right. Almost.

“Pamela, you getting anything about the families?” Balthazar asks, breaking the tense silence.

“Sorry, hon. Nothing,” Pamela says, and though her words answer Balthazar’s question, her eyes unsurprisingly hone on Dean. “I will keep listening.”

“How about you, Naomi?” Balthazar asks without missing a beat. Castiel could kiss him for his persistence, but—best not to, for Dean’s sake. Balthazar continues, “You’ve seen the inner workings, been present at council meetings. Do you have any idea where they might have sent Dean’s family?”

“They’re usually quite predictable,” Naomi replies. “I don’t doubt they’d put them in 0918, where they think it all started. It’ll be a trap, of course. They’ll be ready, if we go there.”

“What are our options?” Castiel asks.

Crowley huffs. “What does it matter? You’re going to go on some ill-advised rescue mission regardless of what we say.”

“We’re not stupid, and we’re not suicidal,” Castiel says stiffly. “We barely made it out of 0622 when we had the element of surprise on our side. We won’t have that now, so we obviously can’t use the same approach.”

“We shouldn’t be approaching at all,” Crowley says.

"If you’re not going to say something useful, don’t say anything at all,” Abaddon says sharply. “If you need some reason to support this, remember that if we want people to join us, we need to be able to reassure them that we have their best interests at heart. That if we will do whatever we can to keep them and their families safe. We can win people’s hearts and minds, but we will not have their active support if they’re too afraid to act.”

“I think it’s time for us to bargain,” Naomi says. “They want me back, and after the fiasco the media coverage has been, they’ll be grateful to put my kidnapping behind them without ever making it public that I was taken.”

“You really think they’ll be receptive to bargaining,” Balthazar says in disbelief. “They do not compromise.”

“I’m with Balthazar,” Abaddon says. “They will ask for more than you in return for the safety of Dean’s family. They know we have someone at the network. They’ll want the name of that person as much as they want your return, and they have no reason to release Dean’s family without getting both.”

“Then let’s prepare to give them both,” Dean says. “Charlie can tell her friend to get the hell out of dodge, and they won’t be able to get at him even if we give them his name. And Naomi gets to go back to work. It’s a win-win.”

Charlie opens her mouth to speak, but then there’s a soft ringing sound, and she sighs, reaching into her pocket.

“That phone is for emergencies only,” Crowley says, eyes narrowed.

“Yeah well, we’re sort of in the middle of an emergency situation, aren’t we?” Charlie quips, tugging the phone out and answering on speakerphone. “Yep!”

“We’ve got the boy,” a male voice says, and Dean’s grip on Castiel’s hand goes painfully tight. “He won’t come back with us. Says he’s got friends to take with. We were hoping Dean could talk some sense into him.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dean grumbles, releasing Castiel and stepping to Charlie to take the phone. “Sam?”

“Here,” the man—must be Alastair or Azazel—says, and then—

“Dean?”

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean says on an exhale, sweet relief filling Castiel’s nose.

“Oh my god, it’s really you. It’s so good to hear your voice,” Sam says, voice more crackly over the phone than it was on screen.

“Listen—go with Ruby. She’ll take you to me.”

“After we get my friends,” Sam says.

“Sammy—”

“Ruby told me about the base. I know there’s room for them. They want to come. Are we mobilizing? Are you really mated to  _The Omega?_ ”

Castiel can’t help but wince at the excitement in Sam’s voice, the optimism, as clear an indicator as any that he’s got no clue what he’s signing up for. They must be the same age in years, but Castiel feels like the past days have aged him far beyond his years, leaving him worn and jaded. Exhausted.

“Sam, listen to me. You’re in danger. You have to come back to us now, or they really might behead you,” Dean says, ignoring Sam’s questions.

“It’d only take a couple hours to get them all,” Sam protests.

"I swear to god, I’ll ask them to knock you out and bring you back.”

“I’ll run away,” Sam says. “I’m fast.”

“Sam, please,” Dean says, free hand rising up to rub at his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter how fast you are. They’ve got a truck,” Charlie points out, voice raised a little to make sure the phone picks her up.

“Who was that?” Sam asks, voice suddenly, surprisingly sharp.

“Friend,” Dean says. “Sam, come back.”

“Bobby?” Sam says, nonsensically.

From the look on Dean’s face, it means nothing to him either. But Charlie’s eyes have gone wide, and Crowley and Abaddon are throwing accusing looks in her direction.

“What the hell are you talking about, Sam?” Dean asks, apparently oblivious to the tension in the room.

“We told you to stop that damned thing when you went inside,” Crowley says in an undertone.

“Can you imagine what would’ve happened if you’d been caught?” Abaddon adds.

"Robert and Rufus. The underground station,” Sam says, and god, his voice is shaking with excitement. “Are you with Bobby?”

“Oh, just answer him,” Crowley says, waving a hand in resignation.

At Abaddon’s nod, Charlie says, “Yeah, this is Bobby. How the hell’d you find my station, buddy?”

“Friends,” Sam says. “We all wondered where you’d went when you dropped off. Holy crap, I’m really talking to you.”

“Tell him—” Dean starts, but Charlie doesn’t need him to finish.

“Sam, kiddo, we need you to come in.  _I_  need you to come in,” she says. “You hear me?”

“I’m just one kid. I’ve got friends who wanna help. We’ve been recruiting.”

“Sam, what the fuck,” Dean says.

Charlie pauses for a moment, and then she asks, “How many?”

“Hey, you can’t—” Crowley starts, but Charlie just shakes her head, and then Sam is answering—

“Thirty,” he says, and Castiel exhales sharply, except Sam isn’t done yet, “at my school. There aren’t as many crosstown from us, but they’ve still got maybe twenty? And that’s just in our district.”

Charlie rubs a hand over her mouth. “And you’re all just kids?”

"I’m almost a legal adult,” Sam says with a sniff.

"Answer her question, Sam,” Dean says.

“We’ve got some parents too,” Sam says. “There’s no age restriction on people who want justice. You said that, Bobby.”

“Jesus Christ, how could you say that on the air?” Dean says.

“I didn’t know kids were listening!” Charlie says defensively.

“Well, you should’ve guessed.”

“Okay, okay, Sam?” Charlie says.

“I’m here.”

"Tell me how you got away from those guys.”

“I don’t think this is the time—” Balthazar starts.

“Trust me,” Charlie says, waving him off.

“Trip wires, and pressure pads in the ground that let out smoke,” Sam says, and he sounds smug. “And radios planted in the opposite direction of the rendezvous point to play sounds of scrambling in the woods, so they’d follow that instead of me.”

"You’re a smart kid,” Charlie says. “But even with all that preparation, you know what your biggest advantage was?”

“They didn’t know what I had planned,” Sam answers easily. “They totally weren’t prepared.”

Oh. Charlie is brilliant.

“The element of surprise,” Sam continues, and then he says, “ _oh_.”

Apparently, Sam is just as brilliant.

“Yeah,” Charlie says. “Better to leave your friends out there, right? They’ll be sleeper cells, ready when we are. Right?”

“Bobby, you’re totally right,” Sam says.

“You ready to come in, then?” Charlie says.

"Well, just—one question.”

“Make it quick,” Charlie says.

“What happened to Rufus? Is he okay?”

Charlie huffs. “Rufus is fine. Now get in the car, Sam.”

“Can you—oh. I’m on speakerphone, right?” Sam says. Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “Dean, I’m sorry. Dad knew what I was up to, but I didn’t tell Mom. She would’ve stopped me. I don’t know what happened to them, but I knew it wouldn’t be good. I’m sorry.”

Dean takes a deep breath, and Castiel reaches out, touches his back. “Yeah, I know, Sam. Just get your ass here in one piece, all right?”

“Roger that. Over and out,” Sam says, and the line disconnects.

Charlie takes her phone back from Dean and pockets it. “Hey, guys, before you chew me out—”

“We won’t be chewing you out, Charlie,” Abaddon says. “It’s been done, and it can’t be undone.”

“I must admit, this might be the best time to bring Robert and Rufus back,” Balthazar says. “We’ll have to be very careful if we’re going to resume broadcasting from here.”

“I can’t believe you guys are talking about this as if it’s okay,” Dean says. “There are maybe thirty more kids out there ready to do what Sam just did, and maybe they won’t be so lucky. Maybe they’ll get their heads blown off for their troubles.”

“We’re starting a revolution,” Abaddon says gently. “We need the support, and now that we’re getting our feet under us, we can reopen a line of communication.” Casting a look in Charlie’s direction, she adds, “Though I guess it was never actually closed.”

“I got bored, okay?” Charlie says.

“Did you know about this?” Abaddon asks Tessa.

"No,” Tessa replies. “I mean, I heard her talking into a device, but I always thought she was just recording things. I never thought they were going anywhere. Everyone needs a hobby.”

“I can’t believe Sam went and  _joined a revolution_  while I was gone,” Dean says.

“Like it or not, you’re part of it too,” Charlie reminds him. Turning toward Balthazar, she says, “And we won’t be broadcasting from here. They’ll be extra vigilant about signals, since they’re on the lookout for us now.”

“Where, then? Rufus’s?” Crowley asks.

“Who is Rufus?” Castiel asks.

“Oh, it’s another code name,” Charlie says. “I’ve only met him a handful of times. He usually called in to do the radio sessions with me, so I can call in and have him handle the broadcasting end this time around. He’d be up for it.”

“No, but who is he?” Castiel prods.

“A computer genius,” Charlie says with a shrug. “You wouldn’t know him, but his name’s Frank.”

“Well, we might as well take advantage of the government’s radio silence and fill the gap with our voice. Charlie, set it up,” Abaddon says.

Charlie leaves the room promptly.

“All right, now what?” Dean says.

“Now, we wait for Sam to get here, and we strategize how to get to your parents,” Balthazar says.

“You worked at 0918,” Castiel says to Crowley. “That was your base, wasn’t it? And Naomi’s, too. You must have followers in the wings there.”

“Because that worked out so well for Cecily,” Crowley says, bitter, but he goes on, “Yes, of course I have more people planted there than any other compound.”

"So we have a chance,” Castiel says, but Crowley doesn’t reply.

“Crowley, we’re going to do this, with you or without you,” Abaddon says. “It’ll go much better if it’s with you. And if it’s without you, it’ll be because you’re dead, because I’ll have killed you.”

"Always with the death threats,” Crowley says, shaking his head. “Don’t bother snapping my neck, I’m thinking.”

“You’d better be.”


End file.
